Brendon the Unfortunate Moron
by thiswasnoaccident
Summary: Brendon of Panic! At The Disco gets spanked. A lot. Feat. other emo band members. This contains nonsexual m/m spanking - if you don't like that, then what the hell are you doing still reading this?
1. Chapter 1

_(There's a person called Caroline in this - she doesn't really matter, just an OC, but the plot doesn't revolve around her)_

Ryan came downstairs, the brush and paddle behind his back. Caroline was in the kitchen, making a coffee and humming softly. She hadn't heard when Brendon had gone to the corner, as he had been tip-toeing, but she could hear Ryan when he did.

"Hey, did you find Bren?" she called, walking into the hallway with a steaming mug of coffee.

"Yeah, I did, thanks, but I still need to talk to him," he said, smiling. Caroline was quite pretty - with red hair and high cheekbones. She was only 15 now, but when she was older there'd be boys lining up for her.

"Well, before you do, want any coffee?" she asked, holding up her cup in indication.

"Not now," he said, "But maybe later?"

"Yeah, that'd be fine," she replied. "What do you need Brendon for, by the way? Music stuff, I'm guessing? Unless you're not his band member, which I thought you were… Sorry, I'm rambling."

"It's fine," he laughed. "But yeah, he is my band member. I'm Ryan Ross, by the way. I didn't tell you earlier - kinda just barged in. And I need Brendon because… we need to have a conversation."

 _A conversation with my belt and his ass,_ Ryan thought darkly.

"Oh, well, that's fine," Caroline said. "Brendon's been in a kinda bad mood for the past week. Snapping, swearing, yelling at people - stuff like that. So I'm not really sure if he'd like to talk."

Ryan's smile dimmed. Brendon was really in for it this time.

"Anyway, I'm gonna head out," she continued. "I'm meeting some friends at the mall. Tell Brendon when you go talk to him, kay? I'll be back before dinner."

And then she was gone, front door slamming shut behind her.

Ryan headed to the living room, where Brendon was standing with his back straight in the corner. He noticed one thing at once - his bottom wasn't bared. Usually he wasn't so strict and would let it slide, but today he was extremely angry with Brendon's behaviour and wouldn't let anything go. He set the brush and paddle down and immediately went up behind him and smacked his butt ten times, causing the younger man to cry out.

"That's for not taking your pants down," Ryan said, grabbing him from the ear and dragging him over to the sofa. He sat down, pulling the younger man over his lap, tugging down his pants, and taking the brush from where he'd set it. A moment later, it was slammed down onto his bottom, causing him to yelp in pain and try to cover it.

Ryan grabbed his wrists, pinning them to his back and continuing the brush assault. Brendon was soon wriggling around, determined to miss the swooping aim of the brush, but to no avail.

"Why were you so rude?" Ryan demanded after a few minutes, still smacking. " _Why_ did you start swearing at people? _Why_ did you think it was okay to yell at everyone? _Why_ did you think it was _okay_ to directly _disobey_ my orders, hmm, Brendon? _Why?_ "

Ryan knew that it would take awhile for him to actually start talking. It always did. In the beginning of a spanking, he was shut up, engulfed in his own thoughts and not paying attention to anything but the pain and himself. So Ryan continued, strong and silent - exactly what Brendon needed now.

After ten minutes of nonstop smacking, Ryan set the brush down. He was blinking back tears, his eyes wide, his heart pounding in his chest. The other man pulled down his boxers, wincing a bit at the firetruck red backside before him. He then picked up the paddle, gently massaging his bottom with it.

"Brendon," he said softly. "Are you ready to tell me why you've been having such a bad attitude these past few weeks?"

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Ryan sighed, raising the paddle up and bringing it down with all his might. Brendon jumped immediately, a slight sob escaping his lips as he reached his hand back. Ryan tapped it with the paddle in warning and he quickly swiped it away, shaking slightly.

" _Ryaaaaaaaaan,"_ Brendon whined,

" _Brendooooooon,_ " Ryan mocked, bringing the paddle down again, causing the other man to cry out.

It continued like this for roughly fifteen minutes. Brendon began to sniffle slightly. His bottom burned and burned, but he had always had a high pain tolerance, so it took quite a bit to get through to him. Again and again and again and again, the paddle came down on his upturned backside. Tears began to leak out of the corners of his eyes as the pain became more and more.

Soon, he was yelling for Ryan to stop. " _Stopstopstopstopstop!"_ he cried. _"Please, Ryan, please!"_

But Ryan pressed on, his arm never seeming to get tired. Brendon began to sob, swears flying out of his mouth without hesitation. Ryan, obviously, didn't like this, and it took twenty extremely hard smacks to stop them.

After fifteen minutes, Ryan stopped abruptly. Brendon groaned inwardly, knowing that it wasn't over yet, as Ryan never just stopped. There was always a slowdown, where the smacks would get softer, and the sweet murmurs would get louder. But that hadn't happened yet.

"Brendon," Ryan spoke softly, beginning to rub his upturned bottom, "I need you to get up, okay? And lie across the back of the sofa."  
" _Nooo,_ " Brendon whined, and Ryan smacked his bottom twice.

"Yes," he said, "Now get up, or I'll make you."

Brendon kicked his feet, sniffling and slowly rising. He looked much younger this way - like a naughty seven year old rather than a man of twenty. He wiped his eyes, bending over the back of the sofa with a slight whine. Ryan walked up behind him, admiring the dark red ass in front of him, before unbuckling his belt and folding it over.

First setting it on Brendon's bottom, he raised it up and brought it down. _Hard._ Brendon screeched, bolting upright and rubbing at his bottom furiously. Ryan raised his eyebrows, before grabbing his ear and pulling him back over. The belt came down, over and over, while tears streamed down Brendon's cheeks.

" _P-please,_ " he cried out after a particularly harsh lick. _"P-please, Ryan! Stop!"_

But Ryan continued. He continued for a long time, never ceasing. Finally, he spoke.

"Brendon? Are you ready to answer my previous question now?"

"P-previous question?" Brendon questioned meekly.

"Yes," Ryan said, setting the belt down and instead using his hand to smack. "I asked why you've had such a bad attitude for the past few weeks."

"Oh," he said quietly. "I've just had a really… _ow!"_ He took a sharp breath at a particularly hard swat. "I've been in a… a bad mood, I guess. I k-kept waking up in a-a cold sweat and I was really angry and I don't know why and please, _please_ stop!"

"Why were you in a bad mood, Brendon?" Ryan asked, swatting his backside again. "Why?"

"N-no reason…" Brendon said quietly.

Ryan snorted. "Sure, Brendon," he said sarcastically. "That's a lie and we both know it. Tell me the real reason."

"I-it's the album!" Brendon burst out after a couple moments of silence. "W-what if the fans don't like it? W-what if they think it's weird, and they won't listen to it?"

Ryan stopped, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean, Brendon?" he asked.

"W-well, it's so… different. Not in a bad way, but it's a lot more different than our last album, you know? So what if no one likes it?"

Beginning to rub his bottom, Ryan said, "That's not going to happen, Bren. They're gonna love it, okay?"  
"I-I know, but what if they don't?" Brendon cried, tears pouring out of his eyes nonstop. "What if they hate it and e-everything is ruined and—" He began to sob loudly.

Ryan sighed, guiding Brendon back to the sofa, which only caused him to cry more. "P-please don't spank me anymore!" he begged. "Please, Ryan! Please!"

"I'm not going to spank you anymore, Brendon," the older man said, gently rubbing his bottom. "We're just going to sit here, okay? And you can cry all you want, and you can scream all you want, but we're still just going to sit here."

That only seemed to make him cry harder, mortified. He cried and cried until he couldn't cry anymore and all that came out of his mouth were dry hiccups. But the whole time, all he could do was lay over Ryan's lap, his purpling bottom up in the air and red eyes staring at the floor.

It was more than half an hour when Ryan gently lifted him back up, rubbing calm circles on his back. "Shh," he hushed the younger man, "Shh, Bren, it's alright."

Brendon hiccuped loudly, setting his face into Ryan's shoulder. They stayed like that for awhile before Ryan rose, tugging Brendon's boxers up. He hissed loudly when they touched his stinging bottom, rubbing at it furiously while pouting. Ryan smacked it once, tutting. "No rubbing," he said, "You know the rules."

Whining, Brendon wiped at his eyes and began to walk towards the stairs, before Ryan stopped him. "Oh, no, no, no," he said, "We're going out for dinner with Caroline and Sarah."

Brendon's eyes widened, before he exclaimed, "You can't be serious! Ryan, my butt is _burning!_ How the fuck do you expect me to sit down at a restaurant and—" He was cut off by a hard smack and sucked in sharply.

"Brendon Boyd Urie!" he scolded. "You will not have that attitude around me any longer! Now, you're going to go to dinner, and you are going to be a loving husband and father, and you will _not_ complain, okay?"

A whine came from the back of his throat, but he complied, going to retrieve his pants from the living room before trudging off to the kitchen for a coffee. Ryan laughed softly, joining him as they waited for Caroline and Sarah to return.

After half an hour they did, and Sarah greeted Ryan happily. "It's been so long!" she exclaimed, laughing. She did raise an eyebrow when Brendon shifted in his seat continuously, but he just smirked in response.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Brendon got spanked was only the next week, when he could still feel the burning in his bottom. They were at the studio, finishing one of the last songs for the new album. Ryan was out talking to Zack when Spencer accidentally tipped over Brendon's cup of coffee, which sent it spilling all onto the floor and splashing into Brendon.

"I'm so sorry Bren!" Spencer exclaimed, scrambling up from his seat. "I'll get a broom and clean it—"

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" Brendon spat. "Why the _fucking hell_ would you knock over the coffee?"

"It was an accident, Bren—"

"Pfft, accident," he said sarcastically. "Sure, Spencer. _Sure._ I bet you're just angry because your wife is divorcing you."

Jon watched with wide eyes, while Spencer took a step back, a wounded look on his face.

"Oh, whoops, did I say that out loud?" Brendon gasped, putting a hand over his mouth. "I am _so_ sorry, it must've just slipped out. But is that why you're mad, Spencer? Is it? _Is it?_ Or is it because she doesn't love you anymore? Or both? Or is it because you're such a fuck up? Because you're just a pathetic, fat piece of—"

"Brendon Boyd Urie!" Ryan yelled from across the room, and he froze in place, as did Spencer and Jon. Ryan could be scary when he wanted to be. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, I'm just telling the truth," Brendon said with a sardonic grin. "After all, that's what you always say, right? No lies?"

Ryan's eyebrows flicked up before he took three quick strides across the room, grabbing hold of his arm and taking a seat, leaving Brendon splayed across his lap.

"W-wait, Ryan, w-what are you doing?" his tone automatically changed into a more frightened one and Ryan smiled ruefully.

"Apparently something I didn't get nailed into your head last week," he said, before smacking the bottom before him.

"Ow!" Brendon yelped, as more and more swats came down on his ass. "Ryan, stop! S-stop!"

But he continued, pausing only to tug down Brendon's pants and underwear, which revealed a reddening bottom.

"Brendon Urie!" he began to lecture. " _What_ in the _world_ drove you to say those things? Hmm? _What,_ Brendon, _what? Why_ did you think that was okay? _Why?_ Hmm? Tell me."

"I-I don't know!" he cried out. "P-please, just stop!"  
Jon and Spencer watched with wide eyes at the scene before them. They'd always known that Ryan spanked Brendon - it'd been evident by the way that, whenever Brendon did something remotely bad, he was dragged off to the bedroom by an angry Ryan, who usually had an implement in his hand. Spencer had seen it happen once before, and it had shocked him stupid, but Jon had never.

They also noticed that Brendon's ass already had some bruises, which caused them to exchange glances with raised eyebrows. Now that they weren't on tour (although they would be soon), how often did Brendon get spanked?

"Oh, I think you do know," Ryan said, voice thick with anger. "And you're going to tell me right now, or you will remain over my knee for as long as it takes for you to tell me."

Brendon remained quiet, letting out little sobs as Ryan's hand rained down harder and harder onto his ass. He honestly didn't know why he'd let his temper get the best of him with Spencer. Trying to think about it was hard, as the pain in his bottom would snap him back to reality in a flash.

After a couple minutes of silence, Ryan aimlessly grabbed for a thick, hard-covered book that was lying on the table in front of him. He slammed it down on Brendon's exposed ass, causing him to scream. When Ryan crashed it down again, he bit down onto his jacket sleeve, attempting to muffle another one. Tears swam in his eyes and soon began to stream down his face as the spanking continued.

His mind began to race, trying to come up with an answer to Ryan's question. Why was he so angry with Spencer? It was just a coffee cup. And Spencer wasn't stupid, or fat, and he was starting to feel worse and worse about everything he'd said.

He began to sob loudly, vision blurred by the masses of tears that were falling from his eyes. "I-I really, really don't know, Ryan!" he exclaimed, yelping afterwards. "I guess my emotions were just pent up or something an-and I'm so, so, so, so, so sorry!"

The spanking continued for awhile, before Ryan had set the book down and instead was swatting him with his hand. Smacks becoming more spaced out, he began to murmur sweet nothings into Brendon's ear, which only caused him to cry harder.

"It's okay, Bren," Ryan murmured, beginning to rub his reddish purple ass with one hand while stroking his hair with the other. "It's okay… you're alright. You're forgiven. Shh, shh…"

Spencer and Jon exchanged glances once again, both wincing when they looked at Brendon's bruised bottom. They couldn't imagine how much it hurt.

Eventually, Ryan tugged Brendon's boxers and pants back up, causing him to cry out and immediately reach his hand back. Tutting, the other man smacked his bottom twice, saying, "You know there's no rubbing."

Brendon sighed but nodded, choking back tears and slowly rising. He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes and looked shyly up at Spencer, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"I-I'm really sorry Spence," he whispered, blushing ever harder.

Spencer had to bite back an, "Aww", as Brendon looked absolutely adorable. He grinned, though, and said, "It's fine, Bren."

"So, about that song?" Ryan asked, rising from his seat and looking at the other members of his band with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, yeah, I was thinking we could put these chords here," Brendon piped up, already reverting back into his normal, boisterous self.

Spencer, Jon, and Ryan all shared a knowing grin while Brendon continued talking, excited and outgoing once more.


	3. Author's Note

A/N:

I know, I know. We all hate A/Ns. So, I apologise in advance for having to write one.

Basically, I wanted to explain something to anybody who could be reading this (why you're wasting your life by doing that, I don't know) -

The timeline in this is _whack._ Like, Brendon might be seventeen in one chapter, and then the next be twenty. And Pete is only, like, four years older than Brendon in this, which is most definitely not true in real life. Also, Ryan and Jon never left! Isn't that spectacular? If only that's how things had worked out in the real world.

This isn't a Ryden story, also. Sorry. I ship it as much as a lot of you do, but I didn't feel like making this sexual at all.

If you happen to have any other questions, feel free to ask. I don't mind. Unless they're rude - then I mind a bit.

Hope you have a great summer (I just got out yesterday),

\- The author of this story


	4. Chapter 3

It was only half an hour before their show, and Ryan was angrily pacing the dressing room. Brendon was supposed to be there almost three hours ago! Oh, when he got his hands on that boy…

"Ry, calm down," Spencer said, walking up and stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to do something you regret if you keep being this angry."

He sighed, falling back into a comfy armchair. "You're right, Spence," he said, "I just… ugh! I thought he would be more mature about our shows, you know?"

Spencer laughed. "Brendon's not mature about anything, Ry," he said, before beginning to leave, "I'm gonna go get some water. If Bren comes, try not to be too angry with him, okay?"

"No promises," Ryan said, leaning back into the chair as Spencer left, Jon following in suit.

Around five minutes later, an out of breath Brendon burst into the dressing room, sweat glistening on his brow and panting. Ryan rose from his seat, a stormy look in his eyes. "Brendon Boyd Urie, where the _hell_ were you?"

He winced, hanging his jacket up. "I was… um… I was just running late."

"Three hours late, Brendon?" Ryan asked with raised eyebrows. " _Three hours late?"_

"Okay, maybe a bit more than running late…" Brendon laughed nervously.

The older man didn't seem to be amused, though, as moments later he was striding over to Brendon and dragging him over his lap.

"W-wait, Ryan!" Brendon let out a strangled cry as his pants and boxers were tugged down. "Th-there's only like twenty minutes until the show starts!"

"I know, Bren," he said, "So I better make this count."

With that, he began to smack the younger man's ass, putting more force than usual into his blows. Only five minutes in, Brendon was choking back tears. Suddenly, Ryan stopped, pulling Brendon off his lap and beginning to unbuckle his belt. "Over the chair," he commanded.

He complied, waiting nervously as the cool air tickled his bottom.

 ** _WHAP._**

Screaming, the younger man flung his hand back, but Ryan was having none of it. He pinned it to his back before continuing, definitely more harsh than before.

"You will _never_ be this late _ever_ again, is that clear, Brendon Urie?"

"Y-y-yes!" he shouted, tears streaming down his face.

"10 minutes 'till show time!" someone distantly shouted.

"Okay, now that we have the beginning over with—" Brendon's mind screeched to a halt. _Beginning?_ "Let's get down to business. Why were you late?"

"U-um…" he laughed nervously. "Th-that's a funny story…"

The older man raised his eyebrows, whipping his belt down again. "Continue."

"I-I…" Brendon bit his lip. "Iwasataclub."

" _What?!"_ Ryan demanded, slamming the belt down onto his ass. "A _club?_ Brendon Boyd Urie, you know you are too young to go to one! How _dare_ you break the law! And right before a concert? What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Brendon began to sob, his bottom turning purple from the licks. Tears streamed down his face at rapid speed as he cried and cried.

"Five minutes 'till show time!"

Ryan decided to finish it up. He laid down twenty extremely hard licks, causing Brendon to scream loudly, before stopping and starting to shush him.

He picked him up, rocking him in his arms while murmuring into his ear. "Shh, shh," he whispered. "It's okay, Bren. It's okay. You're forgiven. Shh, shh."

Brendon hiccuped loudly, cuddling into Ryan's arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated into his chest, tears running onto his shirt.

"It's okay," Ryan said, tugging his boxers and pants up. "Now c'mon, you've got a show to lead."

Despite his aching ass, Brendon quickly changed into his performance clothes, running onto the stage with enough energy to fuel ten trucks. "Hello Los Angeles!" he shouted into his microphone, listening to the crowd scream in response.

Ryan watched from his place near the side, a smile playing on his lips. He could see that his band member was trying not to rub his bottom, and when he sat down on the piano bench a hurt look crossed his face, but he had deserved it. He always deserved it.


	5. Chapter 4

Ryan collapsed onto a chair, out of breath. He had just finished the fifth show this week, and was just ready to lie down and take a long, long nap.

Right when his eyes shut, a voice appeared in his mind. _"Ryaaaaaaaaaan,"_ it said annoyingly. _"Ryaaaaaaaan."_

"Mmf," Ryan replied to the voice. "Go away."

" _Ryaaaaaaaaan,"_ it continued like a mosquito that couldn't find it's way through the window. " _I'm boreeeeeeeed."_

"Then go do something," he responded, eyes still shut.

 _"I am, I'm talking to you."_

It was then that Ryan opened his eyes and found that the voice actually did have a body, and that body took the form of Brendon Urie. He rolled his eyes.

"Bren, go away, I'm trying to sleep."

"I can't, I'm bored."

"Then go bug someone else - like Spencer."

"Spencer isn't as fun to annoy as you," he said with a shit-eating grin. Ryan looked at him through slitted eyes, annoyed.

"Brendon, please, I'm really tired."

"Fine." He pouted, jutting his lower lip out and looking at him with puppy dog eyes.

The older man rolled his eyes, before ruffling his hair. "That won't work on me, Bren. Now go be annoying elsewhere."

And then he was gone, and Ryan was allowed to drift off into sweet, sweet sl—

" _HOLY SHIT!"_

Eyes flicking open, he groaned. He couldn't get a moment of peace, could he? Pushing himself up and out of the chair, he trudged towards where the noise had come from, which was the dressing room.

"What happe— oh." He stopped suddenly, staring at the mess before him.

All the chairs had been flipped over, as had the table filled with food. The lamp in the corner had been knocked down, causing glass to splay out onto the ground. Their clothes were also spread out on the floor, covered in food and glass.

He looked up at Spencer with surprised eyes. "Did you do this?" he asked, wondering if he would actually have to spank him - something he hadn't really expected.

Spencer shook his head. "Bren did. He ran off after — I think towards the bus."

"Jesus Christ." He ran his hand over his face, groaning. "Will he ever learn?"

Picking up a sweatshirt and sliding it over his almost too thin body, he jogged down the hallway and out the door, following Brendon's footsteps.

He opened the bus door, stepping in quietly. Poking his head through the bedroom door, he saw Brendon lying on his bunk, body long, eyes closed, and hands tucked behind his head.

"Brendon," he said quietly, watching as the younger man's eyes flicked open to look at him. "Bren, why'd you do that?"

He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, turning over to look at Ryan directly. "Do what?" he asked innocently.

Rolling his eyes, he replied, "You know what. The dressing room."

"I didn't do that," the younger man said, eyes wide and child-like.

"Sure you didn't," Ryan sighed, sitting down in the chair and beckoning Brendon over with his hand. "C'mon Bren, you know you deserve this."

A low whine came from his throat as he pushed himself out of the bunk, taking the short walk over to where Ryan sat. He stood in front of him for a moment before draping his body over his knees.

Tugging Brendon's pants and boxers down, Ryan rested his hand on the bare bottom before him. "Brendon, why'd you do it?"

"I was just mad," he huffed, sounding childish. "Nobody wanted to talk to me so… yeah."

"You know you sound like a five year old right now, right?"

"No I doooon't," Brendon whined, and Ryan had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Yes, yes you do. And you know what happens to five year olds who are naughty, right?"

Brendon flinched at the word 'naughty'. "… They get spanked?"

"That's right, they get spanked," he said, before bringing his hand down with a resounding _smack._

He winced after every smack, but didn't start to squirm until ten minutes had passed. Then he began to move up and down, trying to dodge the blows, but to no avail.

" _Ryaaaan_ ," he whined, squirming. " _Stooooooop."_

"Stop?" Ryan asked incredulously. " _Stop?_ You want me to stop after you _trashed the whole goddamn dressing room?"_

"Y-yes?" he said weakly, even though it sounded more like a question.

"Well, I won't," the older man said, unamused, and continuing the spanking.

It was silent for awhile, Brendon squirming and yelping as he always did. Eventually, Ryan stopped, and Brendon sighed in relief. Was it over?

But no.

"Get up and lean over the bed," Ryan said, smacking his bottom and pulling him up.

Brendon trudged over to the bed and sighed, bending over it, his ass up and vulnerable. He heard some shuffling and twisted his head back, eyes widening at what he saw. Ryan was holding a long wooden paddle with holes in it, that a) looked like it hurt like hell, and b) looked oddly familiar…

"You know who gave this to me?" Ryan laughed. "Pete did. He told me that he used to spank you with this, before we went on tour and I had to punish you instead. Is that true?"  
Brendon flushed. It was true. Pete had spanked him multiple times when they were younger, before the AFYCSO tour. He was actually the first one to start spanking him, and once Ryan had accidentally seen it so he passed it onto him. Pete was different when spanking, though. He was harsher. _A lot_ harsher. He hardly ever used his hand — the paddle Ryan was holding was more or less his go-to implement.

Currently, he was gladder than ever that they were across the country from Fall Out Boy.

"Well, is it?" Ryan asked softly, beginning to massage Brendon's bottom with the hard paddle.

"I-it is," he stuttered, blushing hard.

"Too bad he isn't here," Ryan said. "I'm sure he'd give you much harder of a spanking, wouldn't he?"

Brendon whimpered. "Y-yeah, he would…"

"Well, maybe I'll try being as harsh as him then, hmm?"

"P-please!" he blurted. "Please don't! Please, Ryan… please, please, please, plea-"

 ** _SMACK_** _._

Brendon couldn't help it - he screamed. It hurt like a motherfucker, plus brought back unpleasant memories. Especially the one where he had been an idiotic seventeen year old and had stolen some CDs from a store… he shuddered. That hadn't been fun.

The smacks continued raining down, with few second intervals, and hot tears began to stream down Brendon's face. It hurt so much and he really wanted it to stop.

" _Ryaaan!"_ he whined, kicking his feet up. " _Pleaaasee!"_

"Not until you've learned your lesson," the older man said, continuing to smack his bottom with the retched paddle.

"B-but I have learned my lesson!" he blubbered, tears pouring down his face.

"If you have to say that, then no, no you haven't," Ryan said flatly.

The flurry of smacks continued for the next ten minutes, until Brendon had run completely out of tears and was instead just letting out dry sobs, his face buried in the tear-soaked duvet.

It took him almost two minutes to realise that the spanking had actually stopped, and that instead Ryan was knelt beside him, soothingly rubbing his back with his hand. He murmured sweet nothings into his ear, before coaxing him up from his position and lying him down on the bed.

"I'll be right back, B," he said, patting his bottom, which only caused him to hiss from the pain.

He did come back, only moments later, with something in his hand. Brendon craned his head back, trying to see what it was. If it was another spanking implement he would lose his shit.

Pulling him up, Ryan sat down and set him down on his lap. Immediately, Brendon's mind went into hyperdrive.

 _Am I going to get spanked more?_ he inwardly panicked. _Oh my god I can't handle that oh my god oh my god my ass is on fire and—_

"Brendon," Ryan said, before repeating it more firmly. "Stop freaking out. I'm not going to spank you anymore, okay? Your bottom is already bad enough, I'm not gonna make it worse."

He relaxed, shoulders deflating visibly. The sound of a cap being popped up could be heard and moments later, there was a cool cream being rubbed onto his bottom.

 _Oh._

Ryan hummed under his breath as he massaged the substance onto Brendon's purplish red ass, wincing as he thought about how much it must hurt.

 _Hopefully,_ Ryan thought, _he's got it ingrained in his head that trashing rooms and being a nuisance in general really aren't tolerated here._

 _ **I think we can all agree that my endings are really shitty.**_


	6. Chapter 5

It was mid-July and the air was steaming. Panic! At The Disco were on their way to London, England, and so far everything had gone according to plan.

Of course, a certain immature twenty-one year old had to ruin that.

"Still four hours left," Spencer moaned, sinking into his seat. Even hundreds of feet in the air, it still managed to be extremely hot, and the plane they were on just so happened to have shit air conditioning.

They all groaned simultaneously, Brendon's the loudest. "Why can't time just go faster," he whined, glaring at his phone's clock with hatred before slamming it down onto the ground.

Ryan rolled his eyes, picking it back up and slipping it into his pocket, much to the dismay of Brendon. "Well, complaining isn't gonna get us anywhere, so let's just relax, okay? Tomorrow is gonna be filled with concerts, so is the day after that — enjoy peace while it lasts."  
Spencer and Jon hummed in agreement, while Brendon just huffed, crossing his arms. Ryan gave him a warning look, before relaxing into his seat and taking out a book. It only took five minutes before Brendon was impatiently tapping his foot and drumming his fingers on the arm rest.

Spencer looked up at him with annoyance. "Bren, can you please stop?" he asked.

Brendon groaned, muttering, "Fine."

It was silent for the next ten minutes, which was a new record. However, silence can't last forever (especially when Brendon Urie is in the room), and soon he was slurping and blowing bubbles into his drink, bored. His foot had also started tapping again at some point.

"Brendon," Ryan said, looking at the younger man. He didn't stop. " _Brendon."_

This time, he looked up, trying to feign innocence. "What?"

"You know what," the older man said, becoming sterner. "Now stop, or you'll regret it."

Brendon lowered his head. _"Now stop or you'll regret it,"_ he mocked under his breath in a high-pitched voice, snorting at the end and sinking into his seat.

Ryan rolled his eyes. How Brendon was twenty-one was beyond him — he acted more like a defiant toddler.

It only took two minutes before Brendon started to press the _Assistance_ button above him. It would make a _ding_ noise, and a stewardess would come out. The first few times, he told her it was an accident. But after that, he just continued to press the button, over and over, making the airplane fill with _ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding._

The stewardess just didn't bother coming out after the twenty-somethingeth time, but Brendon continued. For the next five minutes, all he did was repeatedly press the button, Ryan becoming more and more agitated every passing moment.

After two more minutes, Spencer tapped on Ryan's shoulder, raising his eyebrows and flicking his head toward Brendon. Ryan sighed, nodding, before steeling himself for what he would inevitably have to do.

"Brendon," he said firmly, " _Stop."_

The man - more boy - in question glanced at him, before turning away and continuing to press the button.

 _"Brendon."_

This time he didn't even bother showing any sign of hearing Ryan. What had gotten into him?

 _Well, fine, if he wants to do it that way…_

Pushing himself up, he grabbed Brendon's forearm, ignoring his cry of surprise, and dragged him to the bathroom, locking it behind them.

"If you want to _act_ like a five year old, then I'll treat you like a goddamn five year old," Ryan said through gritted teeth, pulling down his pants and boxers before beginning to smack his bottom.

" _Ryan!"_ Brendon's voice was high-pitched, laced with embarrassment as he knew that Spencer, Jon, and basically everyone on the plane could plainly hear what was going on. _"St-stop!"_

"Stop?" Ryan laughed. "You want me to _stop?_ After you were a complete and utter _nuisance?"_

He continued smacking his backside, before deciding that his hand wouldn't do this job well enough and beginning to unbuckle his belt. Brendon let out a whine of displeasure, but Ryan stopped it with a hard whap of the belt.

Pushing him down over the toilet, he began to build up a steady rhythm of licks. He made them all harder than he normally did, just to get the point across quicker. The younger man began to let out cries of pain, but Ryan ignored them. After all, he had directly disobeyed him and the others, continuing to be an absolute nuisance.

Three minutes later, the first tears had started to spill out of Brendon's eyes. The licks were more spaced out than normal, but they were harder. _Way_ harder.

" _R-Ryaan! Please, p-please stop!"_

Ryan did stop, but only after two more minutes. That, however, was not the end of the punishment — unbeknownst to Brendon.

"Shh, it's okay," Ryan said, hushing Brendon and sitting him down on the toilet. "Now hold on."

The twenty one year old sniffled, wiping at his eyes. Moments later, Ryan came back in, a bottle of cream in his hand.

Brendon cocked his head. The spanking had hurt, yeah, but it hadn't hurt as much as the one he'd had a few days ago. Why was he getting cream? Inwardly shrugging, he decided not to complain. Lotion was always nice.

Ryan lifted him up, before setting him back over his lap. He squirted a bit of the cream into his hand before beginning to rub it thoroughly into Brendon's bottom.

It felt nice at first, but after a few seconds it started to hurt. "Ryan, wha—?"

He was cut off by the other man pulling up his boxers and jeans, smacking his bottom once. "There we go," he said, capping the lotion.

"B-but Ryan, the lotion isn't helping… it just hurts more…" Brendon looked so confused it was kind of adorable and Ryan felt bad. He sympathetically patted his bottom.

"That's the point, B," he said.

"But… that's not fair!" Brendon said, crossing his arms with an adorably defiant look on his face.

"It's plenty fair, Bren. Your punishment isn't over yet. Hopefully, that sore bottom will keep you from getting into trouble. Now, c'mon." He opened the door, leading him out.

When they were walking down the aisle, Spencer sent Brendon a knowing glance, which caused him to blush and look down, while Jon smirked.

He was silent the rest of the trip, only making noise when he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

 ** _Ah, the sweet smell of absolutely nothing. Don't you love being sick and having a stuffed nose?_**


	7. Chapter 6 - Part 1

Brendon was going to New York for a couple days, and Sarah was gone to Europe, so Caroline needed somewhere to stay. Pete had heard and volunteered, saying that him and the rest of Fall Out Boy were currently staying in Los Angeles and had plenty of room for another.

That was how Caroline had found herself standing in the pouring rain, making her way up a too-long driveway with a duffel bag swung over her shoulder.

Okay, maybe she should rewind thirty minutes into the past.

…

"Ugh, I can't find the street," Brendon huffed, peering through the water-soaked window shield. "It's some private road called something really pretentious, like _ponder,_ or _ergo."_

"Who would name a street Ergo Street?" Caroline wondered aloud.

Brendon shrugged. "I don't know."

They continued driving, before Caroline remarked, "There's a street called _Pretentious Street._ "

"Pretentious St— what the fuck, Pete," Brendon shook his head, before turning onto it. "Is it okay if I just drop you off here? The house shouldn't be that far up the road, plus I need to get to the airport."

Caroline shrugged. "Can't see why not," she said, before getting out of the car and taking her bag out from the backseat. "Bye, Brendon!"

"Bye, Caroline! Be good!"

And then he was off.

The redhead peered at the long, winding road in front of her. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have had him drop her off here.

Ten minutes later, she was soaking wet and her teeth were chattering. Scrambling to get her phone out, she quickly texted Brendon, telling him that she still hadn't reached the house. He didn't reply. She tried calling him, but he didn't answer. Groaning, she continued trekking up the long road.

Finally, she decided to text Sarah, to see if she could maybe contact one of the Fall Out Boy members to come and get her. Sarah's response was fast —

 _Me: I'm walking up FOB's driveway (personal street?) and have been for the past fifteen minutes. Soaked to the bone and rlly, rlly freezing. Could you try contacting one of them to come get me? I have no idea how much longer this is._

 _Sarah: Why didn't Brendon just drive u up to their house?_

 _Me: He said he was in a hurry so he dropped me off at the beginning of the road._

 _Sarah: … Bren's plane doesn't take off for another 6 hours._

 _Me: … oh._

 _Sarah: Yeah. I'll text Pete, tho._

Caroline slipped her phone into her pocket, wondering why Brendon had ditched her like that. She continued walking, but eventually stopped when her boots had gotten too filled with mud.

Two minutes later, she saw some headlights. She waved her hand to get the person's attention and they pulled over next to her. Throwing her extremely wet bag into the back, she opened the passenger side's door and slid in, shutting the door after her.

"Um, hi," the driver said, and she looked up to see a man - a few years older than Brendon, for sure - looking at her with curious eyes. "I'm Pete."

"Oh, hi, Pete," she said with a smile. "Um, I'm Caroline, if you couldn't tell. Thanks for picking me up."

He chuckled. "It's no problem. Don't see why Brendon couldn't have just done it, though." His lips quirked down into a frown, and the rest of the car ride was silent.

…

Caroline spent the next few days with them, and found they were all really nice. She especially grew fond of Pete, who could crack jokes like nobody's business and reminded her slightly of her own father. Patrick was also really nice, as was Joe, and Andy — basically they were all great.

Brendon and Sarah showed up around noon, and they were all having a great time. Sarah mentioned at some point in the conversation they were having that their plumbing would be down for all of that day and the next, so Patrick, being a nice person, offered them to stay at their house, as they weren't really doing anything and had far more room than needed.

Sarah and Caroline agreed enthusiastically, but Brendon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Pete caught sight of him in the corner of his eye and smirked.

…

A few hours later, when they had finished eating dinner and mostly everyone was trying (and failing) to complete a massive puzzle in the living room, Pete tapped on Brendon's shoulder. He wasn't trying to do the puzzle, instead walking down the hallway and to the shower.

"Huh—?" he turned around, eyes widening slightly when he saw Pete standing there.

"Brendon, when you get out of the shower, you're going to come to my room, alright? Don't dry off or get dressed or anything — just come to my room, soaking hair and all."

And then he was gone, walking down the hallway in long strides, leaving Brendon confused. He had an inkling as to why he had to go to Pete's room, but he didn't want to ponder on that for too long, instead just hurrying to the bathroom.

…

Brendon purposefully took extremely long in the shower, washing his hair and body with maximum slowness. Once he'd stepped out of the shower, he was about to slip into his pyjamas before stopping and realising that he had to go to Pete's room now. Groaning, he tied a towel around his waist and exited the bathroom, all-but trudging to the older man's room.

He pushed the door open, seeing Pete sitting on his bed, reading a book. Looking up, he put down his book and patted the space next to him. "Bren, come here."

Brendon made a low whining noise in the back of his throat, before shutting the door and making his way over.

"I'd assume that, as you're being especially fidgety, you know what's going to happen?" Pete laughed and Brendon pouted. "I'll take that as a yes. Anyway, let's just get down to business, I don't want to prolong this, so…" he took a deep breath. "Why the hell did you leave Caroline all the way down the driveway? You still had six hours before your plane arrived! That's plenty of time to get there, check in, blah blah blah. You could've easily driven her all the way up — instead, I had to go find her, and she was soaking wet, chilled, and had a flu for the first day she was here."

"I-I don't know," he looked at his feet. "I just didn't feel like it…"

"Sure, Brendon," Pete sighed. "Well, keep your reasons — but I'm still going to punish you. Now, c'mon, over my lap. We haven't done this in awhile, so I'm gonna go a bit easy at first, but I swear you're going to be feeling this into next week."

Brendon groaned, basically throwing himself over Pete's lap with a pout. Pete laughed, taking the towel from his waist and throwing it onto the floor, blinking at the slight lilac bruises on the bottom before him.

"Oh," he said, before grinning, "I guess Ryan got here before me, didn't he?"

When he didn't respond, Pete smacked his bottom and he murmured, "Y-yeah… he did."

"I hope he's been spanking you a lot," Pete aimlessly said, "I mean, ever since we spread out I hoped he would keep you in line. You may be twenty-one, Brendon, but you still act like a five year old half the time."

Brendon flushed, waiting for the spanking to begin. And begin it did.

Pete had always spanked _a lot_ harder than Ryan. He wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not, but he really didn't like it.

Only five minutes after, Brendon was kicking his legs a little, yelping every now and then. Pete smacked him like that for a few more minutes after, before reaching behind him for something Brendon hadn't noticed was there — a paddle.

It was the same paddle Pete used to spank him with (the one with holes), back in the days of stupid teenaged Brendon who would do stupid teenaged things and get in a world of trouble. He wasn't sure how it had ended up back in the hands of Pete, as last time he'd seen it it had been with Ryan. Maybe they had some secret way of giving each other things without the knowledge of Brendon? Or maybe it was a magical teleporting paddle? Who knows.

Pete smacked it down, _hard,_ and it hurt. It hurt like _hell._ Brendon yelped loudly, reaching his hand back, but quickly swiping it to the front again when the older man tapped it in warning. Loud smacks continued to ring out in the room, and soon tears were leaking from Brendon's eyes, falling onto the creamy duvet in front of him.

"P-Pete! Please!" Brendon cried out after a particularly harsh swat. "S-stop!"

Ignoring him, the older man continued to rain down swat after swat. Eventually, Brendon was sobbing loudly, until he couldn't sob anymore and instead was just hiccuping dryly.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he cried. "Please, just stop!"

And he did, after another minute or so. The paddle was discarded - thrown onto the ground like his pants had been earlier - and there were soothing circles being rubbed onto his back.

"It's okay Bren," Pete whispered, moving the circles up and down from his back to bottom. "It's okay…"

Brendon hiccuped loudly, wiping his eyes with his wrist. "I-I'm really sorry, Pete," he said, voice muffled by the comforter.

"It's fine, you're forgiven," Pete said, pulling him up while he, himself, stood up. "You can sleep in my bed, okay? I don't think you want to sleep next to Sarah after tonight."

He blushed, before taking the clothes Pete threw at him and pulling them on. "Thanks, Pete," he said.

"No problem," he replied with a smile, watching as Brendon climbed into bed before turning off the lights. He heard him hiss as his bottom scraped against the sheets and laughed quietly, closing the door and leaving.


	8. Chapter 6 - Part 2

_Hey, look who's back from the dead!_

 _I'm not sure if anybody even reads this story, considering nobody's left a review. But you know what? I'm gonna keep updating. That's probably because I'm actually posting chapters that have been done for a long, long time but have never seen the light of day. Like, I wrote most of these chapters something like a year ago. Insane, huh?_

 _Anyway, enjoy! Or don't. I don't know._

 _(This chapter is more or less a continuation of the previous chapter)_

Brendon, Sarah, and Caroline had just arrived back home, and Brendon was determined to find some lotion. His ass had been hurting _a lot_ since Pete spanked it, and he didn't think he could handle sitting down anymore.

Sarah and Caroline had gone shopping, so he began to rummage around in the bathroom, trying to find a cooling lotion. Suddenly, the doorbell rang and he groaned, pulling on a shirt and going to answer it.

His head tilted when he saw that Ryan was there. "Um, hey, what're you doing here?"

Ryan's eyebrows flicked up. "Can I come in?"

"Uuuh — sure?"

He entered, hanging his coat up, before turning around to face the younger man. "Bren, do you know why I'm here?"

"If I knew then why do you think I asked you earlier?" Brendon asked sarcastically, causing Ryan to give him a warning look.

"Pete told me what happened."

"Oh."

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah, _oh._ Wanna explain that?"

"I-I just… didn't feel like driving all the way up the road."

Ryan smacked his bottom, causing him to yelp loudly. It would've hurt anyway, but with the dark bruises that were already there it made the pain ten times worse. "That sounds believable," he said sarcastically. "Tell me the reason, Brendon, and maybe I'll go a little easier."

The younger man shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, before shaking his head, lips sealed. Ryan rolled his eyes and grabbed his forearm, dragging him to the living room. Sitting down, he pulled the other man over his lap, pushing his pants and boxers to the ground.

His eyebrows raised when he saw the colourful bruises on his bottom. "Pete got you good, didn't he?" he chuckled. "Don't worry, Bren. I'll mainly stick to the non-bruised parts."

Brendon sighed in relief, before tensing up and yelping as the first swat fell. "Ow, Ryan!"

The smacks continued to rain down, mostly on his thighs than anything else — Ryan didn't want to injure him too badly. Brendon began to cry out as the pain became more and more unbearable.

"Please, Ryan, stop!" he cried.

"Will you tell me why you left Caroline in the driveway, when you knew damn well that you had a long time before your plane took off and that it was pouring freezing rain outside?"

Brendon kept his lips shut, lowering his eyes and Ryan smacked one of the darker bruises on his bottom. "Brendon, if you don't tell me then I'm going to keep spanking you until you _do_ tell me, okay? And I promise you, you won't like that."

He then continued spanking, striking harder than before. Eventually, it became too much and Brendon started to cry, tears streaming down his face and sobs escaping his lips. "I-I'll tell you!"

Ryan slowed his spanks so they only came once every few seconds and replied, "Go on."

Brendon flushed. "I-It's kind of… stupid."

Rolling his eyes, the older man said, "Brendon, if you keep prolonging this then I'll start spanking normally again. Would you like that?"

Brendon shook his head quickly. "N-No! I'll tell you… it's just…" His blush deepened. "I didn't want to go because…"

Ryan smacked his bottom, causing the other man to yelp, before rubbing it some more. "Continue."

"Ididn'twanttogobecauseIdidn'twanttoseePete," he blurted hurriedly.

Ryan almost laughed, thinking he'd heard wrong. "Excuse me?"

"I…" Brendon took a deep breath. "I didn't want to go because I didn't want to talk to Pete."

"Why didn't you want to talk to Pete?" Ryan cocked an eyebrow. This was new. Pete had always been nice to Panic!.

The younger man's cheeks darkened again. "I didn't want him to… I didn't want him to spank me."

This time, Ryan did laugh. He couldn't help it. It was amusing enough that Brendon's only reason was to not get a spanking, but also the fact that his plan backfired miserably and he got an even harder spanking than he would've if Pete _had_ spanked him (which he probably wouldn't have).

"It's not funny," Brendon mumbled, the blush still evident.

Ryan laughed again, rubbing circles on his back. "You're right, I shouldn't laugh. But Brendon, you do realise that if you had dropped Caroline off in front of the house, Pete probably wouldn't have spanked you? And if he had, it wouldn't have been very hard? Especially not as hard as the one you ended up getting."

"I did realise that," Brendon mumbled. "I just realised it too late."

The older man chuckled, before landing one final wallop onto his bottom, causing him to yelp loudly. "C'mon Brendon," he said softly, "I'll make you some coffee, okay? And put some lotion on your bottom — the one that helps, mind you, not the other one."

"Okay," Brendon said, wiping his eyes before pulling his underwear and pants up, hobbling after his friend (and disciplinarian).


	9. Chapter 7 - Part 1

_This chapter is actually Mikey-centric, because My Chemical Romance is my guilty pleasure. I apologise in advance._

 _Anyway, if you just want to read about Brendon, I'd suggest reading the beginning of this chapter and then skipping to the next one, because that will be what happens to Beebo._

 _I feel like I should put a disclaimer on this?_

 _Disclaimer: None of this ever happened. This is make-believe. This is my kinky mind making shit up. None of this is real. NONE OF IT. Not even you, the person reading this. You are not real. Your life is just the dream a higher power is having. Amazing._

It was a late Saturday night and basically everybody was at Gerard's house for a party. Pete was talking to William Beckett, drinking a beer and laughing at a bizarre story including Gabe Saporta and a woodchuck.

All was well until Alex Suarez came in with a grin, yelling, "There's a fight in the living room!"

Everyone 'woo!'ed, while Pete just rolled his eyes. Chances are, the guys were wasted, and he didn't really want to see anyone damage Gerard's house. Pushing himself up from his chair, he followed everyone through the hallway, spotting Ryan in the crowd.

"Hey," he said with a grin. "You going to stop the fight, too? Or watch?"

"Nah, I'm gonna stop it," Ryan replied. "Guys usually get stupidly injured when it comes to this type of stuff."

Pete nodded in agreement, and a few moments later Spencer ran up to him. "Hey guys," he said, panting heavily. "Did you - did you hear who the fight's between?"

They exchanged glances. "Um, no, why?" Pete asked, just as Gerard made his way up to them.

"What're we talking about?" he asked.

"Spencer was just about to tell who the fight's between - I guess it's someone we know?"

They all turned to look expectantly at Spencer, who fidgeted awkwardly under all their stares. "I-It's, um, between… Brendon and Mikey."

Ryan groaned loudly, while Pete clenched his fists, looking particularly angry. Gerard, however, might've looked the angriest, a vein bulging in his forehead. Pete knew that Gerard let Mikey roam around pretty freely, but when he did fuck up, it meant an _extremely_ hard spanking, and that maybe for the next few weeks he was kept on a pretty tight leash.

Thankfully, Mikey didn't fuck up a lot.

They made their way to the living room, Spencer trailing behind them. Gerard easily pushed his way through the large crowd that had formed around the two men, grabbing both Mikey and Brendon by the collar and pulling them away. "Fight's over, everyone!" he shouted, much to the displeasure of them, but eventually they began to disappear.

"What the hell was that?" he seethed at the two, watching them exchange nervous glances.

"U-uh…"

Gerard shook his head, handing Brendon off to Pete and Ryan (who he looked terrified of), before dragging Mikey to an empty bedroom. He sat down on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking expectantly at his younger brother.

"Mikey, would you like to explain?"

"Um… there was a… slight disagreement?"

" _Slight disagreement?"_ Gerard snorted. "Sure, Mikey. _Sure._ Throwing punches - which might I add left _bruises_ \- is definitely just a slight disagreement."

"Gee, he… he started it."

He raised his eyebrows. "That is one of the most immature statements I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Mikey," he said, "And that's coming from someone who has spent their whole life with you." Mikey blushed as Gerard stared at him, sighing, "What am I going to do with you?"

"You could do nothing with me and just let me go home," he suggested, grinning, while his older brother just looked unamused.

"Mikey, what you did was wrong," he said. "And I need you to understand that. You're twenty-one, for God's sake! You can't just go around getting into idiotic fights."

"I understand, though!" Mikey complained.

"If you have to say that - especially with that tone - then you definitely don't understand," Gerard said flatly. "Anyway, let's just get this over with, okay? Come bend over my lap."

Mikey winced when he said those words he had heard so often in the past, but which the frequency of was now slowing down. It had maybe been a couple months ago when he had gotten spanked last, and that hadn't been a pleasant experience (i.e. he spent the first few days locked away in his room because it hurt too much to walk, especially while wearing pants, and he had felt the pain for well over two weeks).

He had taken a few painstakingly slow steps forward before Gerard just rolled his eyes, smacked his bottom once, and dragging him over his lap. Pulling down his jeans and boxers, he began to land smacks at random, all extremely hard and painful.

The younger Way started making small noises of distress only a minute in - little groans of discomfort and such. However, they became louder very quickly, and it was only a matter of time before he was whimpering and asking Gerard to stop.

"You wish," was his response. "We're not even half way through yet, Mikey. Better get comfortable."

The other groaned loudly, muttering, "Fuck you, asshole."

"What was that?" Gerard questioned, landing a particularly harsh smack onto the under curve of his bottom, causing him to yelp loudly. "Can you repeat what you just said, Michael?"

"I'd rather not," he mumbled, wincing at the use of his full name.

Another hard smack. "You're not making this any better for yourself," Gerard warned, laying down another onslaught of swats. "Now, I'm going to ask you some questions, okay? We'll start off simple — what in the _world," Smack._ "Drove you to," _Smack._ "Get into a fight," _Smack._ "With Brendon?" _Smack._

Mikey cried out after every smack, "I-It was over something stupid. And, l-like I said earlier, he started it!"

"Mikey, you do realise that blaming it all on Brendon isn't going to get you anywhere, right?"

He blushed, "Y-Yeah…"

"Then why do you keep doing it?" _Smack._

"I-I don't know…"

Gerard rolled his eyes, realising that his hand was getting a little sore. He stopped for a moment, thoughtful, before gently pushing Mikey off his lap. "Go stand in the corner, alright?"

His younger brother looked at him as if he were insane. " _What?"_

"Go stand in the corner."

"Ge— _what?"_

"Are you going deaf, Mikey?" Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow. " _Go. Stand. In. The. Corner."_

"N-No, I heard you but… _what?"_

"Mikey, seriously," he said, looking at his brother, unamused. "Now go stand in the corner or I'll make you."

" _B-B-B-But!"_ he stuttered. "That's for little kids!"

"Says the boy with his pants around his ankles and a cherry red bottom," Gerard said, causing the younger Way to flush. "Now, if I have to repeat myself once more, there will be consequences. Go stand in the corner, Mikey."

A defiant look on his face, he sounded much like a little kid when he said, " _No."_

" _Michael."_

"No!" he all but whined.

"Michael James Way," Gerard addressed sternly, " _What_ has gotten into you?"

Not waiting for a response, he swung him around with a quick movement and began smacking his bottom, ignoring the pain in his hand.

"I will not have this kind of attitude from you!" he scolded, punctuating each word with a hard swat. "I know damn well that you're twenty-one, yes, _but_ if you act like a five year old, then I will treat you like one! And currently, if you didn't realise, you're acting like one. And I will put you over my lap and into the corner as many times as it takes for you to get it ingrained into your head that _you are an adult!_ And you will goddamn act like one, or you can't expect me to treat you like one, okay?"

Mikey was crying loudly by the time the lecture was over, tears streaming down his face. His bottom hurt like _hell._

"Okay?" Gerard repeated, smacking his bottom harshly.

"O-Okay!" Mikey squeaked, causing the other to stop.

"Now, are you ready to go into the corner?"

"Y-Yes, s-sir!"

Gerard smiled a bit at the word 'sir', before smacking his bottom once more. "Off you go then," he said with one final swat.

The younger Way all but ran to the corner, sticking his nose into it and standing extremely straight. Gerard watched him for awhile before getting up and saying, "I'll be back in a couple minutes. Don't move, okay? If I find you have there will be dire consequences."

With that, he got up, locking the door behind him to save Mikey from the embarrassment of someone walking in and seeing him. He made his way downstairs, seeing that the party just seemed to have gotten into full swing. The music was painfully loud, everyone was dancing/making out/both, and there was trash everywhere.

 _Woo,_ Gerard thought sarcastically.

He mingled with a few people before grabbing two glasses of cold water and going to his own bedroom to grab a large, oaken paddle. Thankfully, everyone was too drunk to question why he had a paddle in his hand.

Unlocking and opening the door, he was thankful to see that Mikey was still in position, back straight and nose in the corner. However, one thing was wrong — his hand was rubbing his bottom.

"Mikey!" Gerard exclaimed sharply, setting the two glasses of water and the paddle down, going to smack him. "You know better!"

After the smack, he heard his younger brother suck in sharply, obviously in pain. He felt kind of bad, but at the same time not.

"Can I come out soon?" he heard his muffled voice ask.

"Well, I would've let you out in—" He looked at the clock mantled onto the wall. "One minute, but because of that little slip-up you've earned yourself another ten. Have fun."

A loud groan was his response, and he couldn't help but laugh. Going to take a drink from one of the glasses of water, he watched the younger Way in the corner. He shuffled around for a bit but Gerard clearing his throat made him stop immediately. His bottom was an impressive shade of red, and he almost felt bad. There was still quite a bit of the punishment to go, so that meant that by the end it would be almost purple and there would be bruises. Because this was such a bad feat, he had decided earlier on that this would be a harsher lesson than any one Mikey had had before. And that meant that he had to go _way_ beyond this.

Soon, the eleven minutes was up and Gerard said, "Come here, Mikey."

He turned around, hair matted against his face instead of up like it normally was. "Now lean over the bed."

A loud whine immediately escaped his throat. "Gee, _nooooo."_

"Yes," was his response. "Lean over, or I'll make you. And trust me, you do not want to go down that road."

He stamped his foot, which was actually quite adorable, albeit immature, before huffily bending over. His dark red ass was up in the air, vulnerable to the world, and Gerard picked up the paddle from its place on the night desk.

Mikey took a sharp intake of breath when he realised what was in his older brother's hand, and mentally braced himself. Of course, whenever this happened, he never mentally braced himself enough, and so the first smack made him cry out loudly.

The smacks started to rain down in a steady pattern, and soon tears had started to leak from Mikey's eyes again. It took around two minutes to start making noise, though, but when he did, he made loud, heart-retching sobs. Gerard felt a pang in his heart, but steeled himself to go on.

Roughly fifteen minutes later - where all you could hear in the room were the wails of Mikey and the swish of the paddle - Gerard stopped. Mikey buried his face into the duvet, thinking, _Is it over? Please, please, please—_ The sound of Gerard unbuckling his belt took him from his thoughts.

"Gee, no!" he cried. "Please, please, no!"

"Mikey, you deserve this whole punishment," Gerard said firmly. "Now, be quiet, or you'll get extra."

That shut him up.

After finishing taking off his belt, the older Way folded it over before bracing himself.

"This is gonna hurt, Mikey," he told his brother.

"It already hurts," was the muffled response.

Gerard chuckled, before bringing the belt down. _Hard._

Mikey screeched, his mind going into overdrive. The pain was _too much._ His hand instinctively reached back, eager to rub away the sting (like that would work), but one noise of displeasure from Gerard was enough to make him snatch it back.

Another whap came, and then another, and another, and another, and Mikey realised that he had started bawling again. He couldn't even make the tears stop anymore - they just kept coming, streaming down his face, salty and hot.

Time seemed to become infinite then. Mikey was sure that the spanking would never stop, that Gerard would never deem him 'punished', that this was some sort of hell he was condemned to. However, it was actually only like ten minutes before Gerard had stopped.

He was slightly aware that he was being moved, but became very aware when his pants and boxers were pulled up. Jumping up slightly, he let out a loud, " _OW!"_ as they scraped against his very, _very_ sore bottom.

"It hurts, Gee," he whined. "It huuurts."

"I know it hurts," Gerard replied, chuckling slightly while rubbing soothing circles onto his back. "But it's supposed to hurt."

Mikey pouted, burying his face into Gerard's shoulder. "I want sleep," he mumbled.

"And sleep you shall get," Gerard said, helping him stand up. "C'mon, I'll drive you to Frank's house. That is where you're staying, right?" Mikey nodded. "Good. I'd offer a bed here, but there's an obnoxiously loud party going on downstairs and I don't think anyone in this house could get sleep, honestly."

The party hadn't changed at all when they went downstairs, making their way out the front door and past the many couples making out on the lawn. Gerard had grabbed a pillow from inside and put it on the car's seat before Mikey sat down (who flashed him a grateful smile at the gesture).

The pillow didn't really help all that much, though, as more than three-fourths of the trip to Frank's was spent shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, which just caused more discomfort.

When they arrived at Frank's, Gerard led Mikey inside, giving him some water before taking him to bed. He waited until he was sure the younger had fallen asleep before slowly and quietly leaving, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Downstairs, he saw Frank just coming in, taking his shoes and jacket off. "Gerard?" he asked, confused.

"Mikey," Gerard replied simply, and Frank nodded understandingly. "Can you do me a favour, Frank?"

"Sure?"

"So, Mikey got into a fight with Brendon—" Frank's eyes darkened and Gerard quickly added, "He's been punished enough for that, though. There's no need to give him more. Anyway, could you bring him to Brendon's - actually, Ryan's, that's where he's staying - tomorrow to make him apologise? If he's any trouble, you know what to do. If he gets really out of hand, call me. I'll deal with him."

Frank smiled. "Of course."

Gerard smiled in return, turning to walk out the door before looking over his shoulder. "Could you try putting some lotion on his ass, too? It's really nasty."

The younger nodded, and Gerard waved goodbye, before leaving.

Frank sighed when the oldest Way was gone, _Mikey, Mikey, Mikey…_ he thought, shaking his head before going up to his room.

…

The next morning, after waking up himself, Frank went to get Mikey up. He almost laughed at the scene in front of him - the youngest Way was lying on his stomach, comforter over his head instead of body and bottom sticking up. Frank could see crimson splotches peeking out from beneath his boxers and winced, thinking of how much it hurt.

"Mikey," he cooed, "It's time to get up."

" _Nooo,"_ the older man whined. "Don't wanna."

"I don't want to spank you," Frank said, before patting his backside. "Especially with that bottom, but I will."

Mikey groaned loudly, flipping him off. "You can't spank me," he said, muffled by the pillow.

"Oh, I beg to differ," he said. "Gerard told me long ago that I could, you know. I've just never used that privilege. Now stop being a brat."

"No," Mikey said defiantly, sitting up (hissing at the pressure on his bottom) and crossing his arms. "You don't get to spank me. Only Gerard can. And last time I checked, you're not him."

"Mikey, even if Gerard hadn't told me I could spank you, I still would." Frank raised his eyebrows. "You're being a nuisance, and you know what come to nuisances, right?"

"…"

" _Mikey."_

"Spankings," he mumbled, blushing. "Spankings come to nuisances."

"Mmhmm," Frank nodded, before pulling the younger Way up and landing ten hard smacks onto his bottom. He cried out, reaching his hand back, but the other man tutted and caught it mid-air. "No rubbing - you know better."

Mikey groaned, but complied, and Frank smiled. "C'mon, then. I'll make you some coffee."

Immediately perking at the word 'coffee', the two of them were soon downstairs, cups of the steaming liquid in front of them. "After this, we're going to Ryan's house, where you'll apologise to Brendon."

Mikey's eyes darkened. "I don't wanna apologise," he said petulantly, pouting.

"Well, you need to, and you're going to," Frank said. "Even if you don't want to."

Sighing, his shoulders deflated and he nodded. "Don't expect me to be nice, though."

"Actually, I do expect you to be nice," the other man said, looking at him pointedly. "And if you aren't, there will be consequences. Now, finish your coffee so we can go."

Mikey drank his coffee painstakingly slowly, and Frank rolled his eyes, knowing he was doing it on purpose. Eventually, he got fed up and just took the coffee from him, setting it down on the table before dragging Mikey out to the car.

Ten minutes later, they were standing outside of Ryan's apartment and knocking on the door. Ryan opened the door (as expected), hair ruffled and wearing a worn pair of jeans and t-shirt. His face was confused when he saw Frank, but became understanding when he saw Mikey standing next to him.

"Hey," he said, laughing a bit. "I was just about to go to your house, but I guess you're here, so I don't need to. Come in, though."

"Thanks," Frank said, looking at Mikey warily. While they were taking off their jackets, he whispered into his ear, "Be good or you know what will happen."

"Brendon!" Ryan called. "Come downstairs!"

And he did. Frank immediately noticed that his eyes were kind of red from crying, so he assumed he'd just gotten another spanking before they'd come. He looked at Frank, confused, before looking at Mikey and sighing, trudging down the stairs.

Frank didn't realise, but Mikey did, that when Brendon brushed past him, he lightly smacked his ass. To a passerby, it wouldn't have looked like anything - maybe just Brendon's hand slipping out of his pocket, but Mikey knew it was on purpose; a test. And when he tensed up and let out a low hiss, the younger man smirked knowingly. He glared back.

The two then started a sort of glare-off, while the other men talked. They were talking about something boring — politics? Mikey didn't really care. They walked off into the next room, leaving them there to glare at each other. It was silent before Mikey said, "You know, this is all your fault."  
"Fuck off," Brendon said loudly.

A chair screeched in the distance and the next thing they knew Ryan had turned Brendon around and was swatting him. The younger man yelped loudly, shouting a muffled, " _Ry-an!"_

Ignoring him, he turned him around and simply said, "Apologise."

Frank quirked an eyebrow at Mikey - a silent, " _You too."_

But Brendon and Mikey just continued to glare at each other, causing Ryan to mutter, " _Are you kidding me?"_

Him and Frank shared a look, before going up to the two boys and smacking them each twenty times. Mikey all-but screamed, biting his lip and looking at Frank, wounded. His only response was, " _A-pol-o-gise."_

"Fine," he huffed, before turning to Brendon. "I'm sorry for, um, punching you? And, like, getting into a fight with you…"

Ryan then looked at the younger man, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _You're turn._

Brendon sighed, before inhaling deeply and saying, "Um… I'm sorry for punching you, too. And starting the fight… and being rude in general…"

"Now that wasn't too hard, was it?" Ryan asked, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, Frank, Mikey — you guys wanna stay for lunch?"

"Sure," Frank agreed happily, while the other man just groaned inwardly. This was going to be a long day.

…

An hour later, Mikey had insulted Brendon six times, been insulted by Brendon five times, and had a really, really, _really_ sore bottom. Eventually, when Brendon flipped Mikey off and Mikey responded with a loud, " _Fuck you!",_ Frank just sent him a look and whispered, "You are going to regret that."

He kept sending him the same look every time he did something bad, but never actually did anything else. Mikey wondered if he was off the hook.

Of course, he wasn't.

For when they left Ryan's and arrived at Frank's, he said, "Go to your room and to the corner with your pants and underwear off. I'll be up in a few minutes."  
Mikey opened his mouth and closed it, like a fish out of water, for a few moments before his bottom was being smacked and he heard, " _Now."_

Once the older man had scurried away, Frank ran a hand over his face and reached for his phone. Dialling Gerard's number, the oldest Way answered after a few rings.

 _"Hey, what's up?"_

"Gee, I need some help."

 _"What sort of help?"_

"Like, what-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-Mikey help."

" _Ah. What'd he do?"_

"I think it'd be easier to tell you a list of what he _didn't_ do."

" _That bad?"_

"That bad. Anyway, I have no idea to what to do. I mean, he obviously needs to be punished, even with his bottom's current state but, like… I don't want to permanently damage him or anything."

" _Okay, Frank - hear me out. Remember that time I spanked you?"_

Frank flushed, before replying, "Y-yeah."

Gerard chuckled, " _Well, remember how I used that paddle? It was kinda thin, and made of oak?"_

"Um, yeah, I do remember. It hurt like hell, by the way."

 _"I know. Anyway, I left it at your house. It should be in your closet on the top shelf, I believe. Spank him for, like, seven minutes with that — but on the thighs. They should be mostly unmarked. After that, get a wooden hairbrush — you have one, right?"_

"Mmhmm."

 _"Okay, spank him with that for five minutes — on the bruises. It should give him something to think about. After that, take some of that cream or whatever, but not the soothing kind. I think it's called Icy Hot? It should make his ass sting even more. Just, like, put that on him, and… yeah. If he's crying a lot, which he probably will be, then make him some hot chocolate before putting him to bed, okay?"_

"Okay," Frank said, "Thanks, Gerard."

" _You're welcome_ ," he replied. " _Take good care of my little brother for me, will you?_ "

"I will. Bye."

" _Bye."_

And that was that. After, Frank headed upstairs to get the paddle, brush, and cream. He went to Mikey's room then, seeing him in his expected place in the corner, and watched for awhile before saying, "Mikey, you can come out now."

He turned around, looking pitifully at Frank with a pout. "Over the bed," the younger man said, nodding his head towards it.

A low whine came from the bottom of Mikey's throat as he threw himself down onto the soft mattress, burying his face in the duvet. Frank grabbed the paddle, massaging his thighs with it before smacking it down.

The youngest Way jumped, yelping loudly. Frank brought it down again, hitting harder every five or so swats, and watched as Mikey's creamy white thighs slowly turn brighter and brighter red. He soon had tears leaking out of his eyes and was crying out every few moments.

Frank stopped after seven minutes, listening to the sobs come out of the older man's mouth. He frowned, feeling kind of bad - he had never spanked Mikey that hard before. Still, he had to power through.

Setting the paddle down, he grabbed the brush and began to rub Mikey's bottom with it. Suddenly - _SMACK._

Mikey cried out, reaching his hand back, but Frank grabbed it before he could begin to rub. "You know the rules," Frank lectured. " _No. Rubbing."_

" _Fra-ank!"_

He continued to swat, watching as the areas around the bruises that had sort of faded away became red again. Around four minutes in, he began to spank directly on the bruises, causing Mikey to let out a loud wail.

" _Frank, stop!"_ he begged. " _P-Please!"_

But he didn't - there was still maybe a minute left of the spanking. So he continued, and Mikey continued to sob, until he couldn't even stop the tears and yelps if he wanted to.

Finally, Frank did stop, listening to Mikey choke on his sobs for a few seconds before gently picking him up and laying him over his lap. He opened the bottle of cream with one hand, squirting some into his hand.

Mikey relaxed, thinking it was soothing lotion like Gerard usually put on him. He expected his bottom to start feeling cooler and a bit nicer after it was rubbed on, but _no._ It started to hurt.

"Frank?" he questioned. "I-I don't think the lotion's working…"

"It's working exactly how it's supposed to work," Frank said, patting his bottom.

"B-But… _it hurts."_

"Mikey, this cream is supposed to make it hurt more," he said.

"W-What? T-That doesn't… _that's not fair!_ A-And i-it _hurts!"_

And then he started to cry again, fresh tears staining Frank's jeans. Eyes softening, he flipped the older man over, cradling him in his arms.

"Shh," he hushed, "Shh… it's okay, Mikey. It's okay. It's over."

He continued sobbing, and Frank thought back to what Gerard had said. Make him hot chocolate? Okay. He could do that.

Carrying Mikey downstairs, he gently set him on the sofa before going to make some. When it was done, he offered it to the older man, who accepted it graciously.

He seemed a lot more calm after he'd drunk the hot beverage, and sleepy. Picking him up again, he brought him upstairs, tucking him into bed with a slight smile.

"Goodnight, Mikey," he said.

"G'night Frank," the older man replied, half-lidded and drowsy.


	10. Chapter 7 - Part 2

_And, here we have the continuation of the previous chapter! This is what happens to Brendon..._

Brendon looked at Ryan and Pete with scared eyes. _This is all your fault,_ he thought, glaring at Mikey, who was being dragged away by Gerard.

"Brendon Boyd Urie," Pete said through gritted teeth, snapping the younger man out of his thoughts. "What the _fuck_ was that?"

"Uuuuuuuuuuuuh…"

Pete rolled his eyes, looking at Ryan with his eyebrows raised. They seemed to have a silent conversation. _You spank first, or me?_

Ryan pointed at himself, then Pete. _Me first, then you._

Pete nodded. _Okay._ Then he grabbed Brendon by the arm, causing him to wince, and basically dragged him off to a spare bedroom. Spencer watched the whole scene unfold, feeling kind of bad for his band member and friend. Ryan was bad enough by himself, as was Pete, but the two of them together? Brendon wouldn't be sitting for aeons.

…

"Brendon," Pete said, pulling him into the bedroom and setting him down on a chair, Ryan following closely. "What do you have to say for yourself?"  
"Um… it was Mikey's fault?"

Ryan snorted a laugh, while Pete just rolled his eyes, turning to the man beside him. "I'm gonna go, okay? I'll be back in, like… half an hour."

Brendon watched with wide eyes as the older man left, before looking at Ryan, who was glaring at him. "Brendon," he said, "Up and over the bed."

"W-What?" he asked. That meant he was going to get the belt. "No warm-up?"

His band member shook his head, tapping his foot impatiently. Brendon stayed seated, too scared to move, before Ryan grabbed his ear and practically threw him down onto the bed, unbuckling his belt while pulling the other man's pants and underwear down.

 _WHAP._

Brendon yelped loudly, throwing his hand back. Ryan smacked down on his hand, instead, though, causing him to scream.

"Ry- _an! Owwwwww!"_

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — Brendon started to lose track of the licks. He began to cry, tears streaming down his face and legs kicking. "Ryan, _stop!"_ he cried. _"Stopstopstopstopstop!"_

But the older man powered on, and soon Brendon's bottom was covered in dark welts. He was sobbing, wails muffled by the duvet, and finally - _finally -_ Ryan stopped.

He threw down the belt, sitting down on the bed and bringing Brendon over his lap. Expecting some sort of comfort, the younger man relaxed, before — _SMACK._

" _OOOOOOWWW!"_ Brendon screeched. " _Ryaaaaaaaan!"_

"Brendon," he said finally, smacking down on his bottom after, "You have been a _very_ naughty boy, you know? You got into a fight with Mikey! _Also,_ do you think I didn't realise the beers you'd been chugging earlier? You're nineteen, Brendon! And do you know what that means?"

"…"

"Well, _do you?"_ he rained down five excruciatingly hard smacks.

"I-It means that what I did was… was… illegal."

"Mmhmm. _Illegal._ That means that you could have been arrested. How would you like to be in a jail cell right now?"  
"…"

" _Well?"_

"I-I wouldn't like it, Ryan!"

"Damn right you wouldn't!" he exclaimed, smacking him. "Now, what are you not going to do again?"

"I-I—"

 _Smack._ " _Yes?"_

"I-I'm not g-going to get into any more fights!" he cried. "And I'm not g-gonna drink underage a-again!"

"Good," the older man said, satisfied, smacking his bottom ten last times, causing the other one to break down and just start crying hysterically. He flipped him over and began to cradle him. "Shh, shh, Brendon, shh… it's okay, Bren. Shh."

"R-Ryan, i-it hurts!" he cried.

"I know, Bren, I know," he soothed. "This isn't over, though."

His red eyes widened. "W-What?"

"There's still Pete," he said, rubbing circles onto his back.

"B-B-But! That's not fair, Ryan! I can't take anymore!"

He smacked his bottom. "That's a lie and you know it — you have a limit, Bren, and it hasn't been reached yet. I'm gonna go, now, though. Pete'll be here in—" he looked at his phone. "Five minutes. Relax, okay? I'll put some cream on your bottom when you come back to my place."

And then he was gone. Brendon whimpered, massaging his bottom with his hand. It _hurt._ How could he deal with more? Oh, right. He couldn't.

Pulling up his boxers gently and throwing his pants onto the floor, he laid down on the bed, stomach down and face buried in the pillow. He heard the door open and turned his head, watching as Pete entered. The older man smiled slightly, sitting next to Brendon and rubbing his back with his palm.

"Brendon," he said. "I need you to get up, okay? Bend over the chair."

Sniffling, he slowly rose and bent over the chair, ass in the air. "Bren, this is going to be harsh," Pete said. "Like, _really harsh._ And I know you've already gotten spanked by Ryan, but I need you to be strong for this. Okay?"

"O-Okay…" _How harsh was harsh?_

Brendon heard some commotion behind him and wondered what Pete was doing. When he felt a hard tap on his bottom, though, he knew.

 _The cane._

"P-Pete?" he asked, scared. He'd only gotten the cane once, and that was when he'd gotten arrested for stealing CDs… he'd never intended to repeat that experience.

"Brendon, fights are unacceptable," he said. "So is underaged drinking. And you need to understand that."

"I-I already understand that!"

"No, I don't think you do," Pete said. "Now, I'm going to start. Deep breaths, okay?"

"O-Oka— _OOOOOW!"_

The first lick came barrelling down, leaving a long stripe over his bruises. Another one came down almost instantly after, and another, and another.

Brendon had soon started sobbing again, his tears soaking the carpet below him. Pete was careful, though. He didn't overlap strikes — that would make Brendon's skin break and start bleeding. That's not what he wanted.

Wailing, the younger man didn't even try to stop the caning anymore. It hurt _too much._ He'd never sit again (well, that was an exaggeration).

Even when it was over, he continued to sob, face hidden in his hands. He was vaguely aware that Pete had lifted him up and onto the bed and was whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but focused mostly on the pain.

"Brendon, shh," he hushed. "It's okay — shh, shh, shh. Calm down, Brendon. Shh…"

"P-Pete," he whimpered. "It _hurts."_

"It's supposed to hurt, Bren," he replied. "Now, I'm gonna get your pants, okay? Then I'm gonna drive you back to Ryan's."

Hiccupping, Brendon nodded as Pete gently put him down and went to retrieve his pants. He lifted the other man's legs up, sliding his pants onto him and wincing at the cry of pain he let out.

"It's okay," he murmured comfortingly, picking him up before going out the backdoor of the room and finding his car in the mass of vehicles in Gerard's driveway.

Ten minutes later, Brendon was almost in tears again due to his bottom rubbing against the seat. Once they were out of the car, Pete patted his back sympathetically before going to knock on Ryan's door.

He opened the door a few moments later, hair ruffled. "Oh, hey, Pete," he said, looking at the man who had signed their band before looking at the pouting boy next to him.

"Be easy on him, okay?" Pete asked. "I don't think he'll be sitting comfortably for at least two weeks."

Ryan nodded, waving goodbye and watching as the older man got into his car. After, he beckoned Brendon in, watching as his bandmate shuffled inside, rubbing his bottom dolefully. He chuckled, guiding him up to the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, he bent Brendon over his lap.

"R-Ryan?" Brendon asked, scared. "Are you going to sp… sp… spank me again?"

"No," Ryan said. "And don't make it so I have to, either. I'm just gonna rub some cream onto your bottom, okay?"

The younger man nodded, hissing as his pants and underwear were pulled down. Ryan whistled. "Damn, Pete really went to town," he said. "I'll be careful while applying the cream, okay?"

"Okay," Brendon sniffled, whimpering as Ryan put the cool lotion onto his bottom.

Soon, though, his bottom started to feel a tiny, tiny bit better. He relaxed, Ryan pulling up his boxers but leaving his pants off.

"Time for bed, now," Ryan said, patting his backside. "It's pretty late, and you could use a lot of sleep."

Brendon nodded, sniffling, following his older bandmate into his bedroom and letting himself be put to bed. Ryan pulled the blankets up before patting his shoulder and saying, "Goodnight, Brendon."

"Goodnight, Ryan," he replied sleepily, flipping over onto his stomach and soon falling asleep.

…

Brendon woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. A smile graced his lips as he climbed out of bed, wincing as his bottom scraped against his boxers. He rubbed it dolefully before stumbling down the stairs, entering the kitchen with a grin.

"Breakfaaast!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down around Ryan, who chuckled in return.

"Go wait at the table," the older man told him. He pouted.

"But I want to help!"

"Bren, I don't think you can help — just go wait, okay? The pancakes are almost ready, and the bacon's just cooling down."

Still sulking, he went to the table and sat down, before crying out loudly and jumping back up, rubbing his bottom. "There's a pillow over on the sofa," Ryan said without turning around. Brendon went to get it, but stopped when he saw something that caught his interest.

A pie.

"Ooh, pie!" he exclaimed, running toward it, but was stopped by Ryan grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him backward.

"That's not for you," he scolded. "That's for Spence - his sister's having a baby, remember? He's gonna give it to her as a congratulatory pie."

"B-But! Spencer's sister doesn't _need_ a pie!"

"And you do?"

"… Yes?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, smacking his bottom once. "Brendon, just go sit down. Breakfast'll be ready soon, okay?"

"Okay," he pouted, snatching the pillow and going to sit at the table.

Chuckling, his older bandmate went to finish the pancakes. A couple minutes later, Ryan was stacking the pancakes onto a plate. He turned around, looking up from putting the whipped cream onto them and saying, "Who wants panc— _Brendon!"_

Brendon blinked, looking at Ryan with his mouth open and a half-eaten slice of pie in his hand. "Oh my god," the older man groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What the hell, Brendon?"

"Oh, how did that get there?" he laughed nervously, looking at the pie and setting it down.

"It's ruined," he moaned, looking at the pie longingly. "I spent all morning on that, Bren!"

"Only one piece is missing," Brendon said, scared of the angry look in Ryan's eyes.

"One piece my ass!" Ryan retorted. "You took like half the pie in one piece!"

"It's still one piece," he said weakly.

The older man rolled his eyes, grabbing him by the forearm and dragging him to the sofa. He pulled him over his lap, and Brendon immediately started to beg, "Ryan, please, plea— _OW!"_

Smacks raining down, Ryan began to lecture, "Brendon, I know it's just a pie, and that's not really what I'm angry about. I'm angry about the fact that you _directly disobeyed me!_ And that's unacceptable!"

"I-I know it's unacceptable and I-I'm _sorrrrrry!"_

"I don't think you are." Ten more smacks.

"Ry- _aaaaan!"_ He began to sob. Normally he wouldn't be crying this hard yet — but with all the welts, stripes, and bruises on his bottom from the previous day it hurt like _hell._

The spanking went on for another five minutes before Ryan stopped. Brendon was wailing, tears falling freely from his eyes and legs kicking.

"Hush," he said, lifting the younger man up from his lap. "Shh, Bren. Now go upstairs and get dressed. You have to go apologise to Mikey."

Brendon sniffled, looking at Ryan with wide eyes. "No hug?"

"No hug," Ryan confirmed, patting his bottom. "Now go get dressed."

…

Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ryan went to answer it and was surprised to find it was Frank and Mikey. He let them inside, calling for Brendon.

As the day progressed, Ryan became more and more unhappy with Brendon's behaviour. Hadn't that reminder that morning been enough? Apparently not.

Once the two of them were gone, Ryan sent Brendon upstairs and sat on the couch.

 _What to do, what to do…_ he wondered, before calling up Pete.

The phone rang for a few seconds before the older man picked up. _"Hello?"_  
"Oh, hey, Pete… um, I kind of need help with Brendon."  
Pete sighed. " _What did he do this time?"_

"He was really, really obnoxious and rude while Mikey and Frank were over today," Ryan explained. "And his ass… it's so… bruised. I don't want to worsen it."

 _"Yeah, I get what you mean… how 'bout you just make, like, a mental mark? Like, one mark is just one normal, not-that-harsh spanking. Throughout the week see how many marks he gets. By the end, if he has, like, five, then give him a pretty hard spanking. If he gets, like, eight - as Brendon will probably somehow do - then give him a really harsh spanking. The welts will have disappeared mostly by the end of the week, so it won't be that bad. Well, I mean, it'll be bad, but it won't just be bad because of the welts."_

"Hmm," Ryan said thoughtfully. "That's a pretty good idea, Pete. Thanks."

 _"You're welcome. Have a good night, Ry. Tell Bren I said hi."_

"I will. Bye!"

 _"Bye."_

And that was that.

Ryan went upstairs, finding Brendon stuffed underneath his blankets with a pillow over his head. "Please don't spank me," he mumbled into the mattress. "Pleeaase."

"I'm not going to spank you, Bren," he said, taking the pillow off his head and turning him around. "I just came up here to say that Pete says hi."

Brendon looked at him with wide eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"So, you're not going to spank me?"

"The only reason I'm not spanking you is because your bottom's so bad," Ryan explained. "Although that doesn't mean you're off the hook. I'm gonna give you a strike, okay?"

"A strike? This isn't baseball, Ryan."

He laughed. "That's not what I meant. I mean a strike as in you've got a mark on your otherwise clean slate. Throughout the rest of the week, we'll see how many more strikes end up on your chart. If it's a lot then I'm sorry, Brendon—" he patted his shoulder. "You're in for a rough time."

"B-But!" Brendon spluttered. "That's not fair!"

Ryan scrunched his eyebrows. "I think it's more fair than giving you a spanking straight on that bottom. Unless that's what you'd prefer?"

"N-No… that's not what I meant."

"Okay. Then, have we come to an agreement?"

"… Yes."

Smiling, Ryan said, "Good. Now, get some sleep, Bren. We have to go visit Spencer. His sister's having the baby, remember? And because you ate the pie, we have to go buy a new one at the bakery tomorrow. And you're paying."

Brendon groaned, hiding his face behind the duvet. Ryan chuckled. "G'night, Bren."

"Night, Ryan."

…

The next days flew by, and Ryan watched as his mental tallies grew and grew. Brendon sure knew how to get in trouble. Every day, he'd do at least two misdeeds, if not more. By the end of the week, Ryan was twitching with irritation. The other man had almost been _too much_ of a nuisance. He couldn't deal with it any longer.

On Saturday, Ryan sat in his room, counting up how many strikes Brendon had made in total — eleven. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before looking up at the ceiling. _What am I going to do with him?_

Pushing himself up, he walked down the hall to Brendon's room, knocking on the door lightly.

"Yeah?" a voice groaned from within and he opened the door, stepping in.

"Brendon?" he asked, and the younger man looked up from where he was practicing piano.

"Oh, hey, Ryan."

He sat down on the bed, motioning him over. "Bren, do you know why I'm here?"

"Uh… because I should be going to bed soon?"

"No, B. Remember our deal?"

"Our… de— oh." He looked up at Ryan with pleading eyes. "Can we please not do that? _Please?"_

"No, we can't," he said firmly. "You've been a _complete_ nuisance this whole week. And guess how many strikes you've acquired."

"… Like, three?"

"Eleven, Brendon. _Eleven._ "

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh."_ He grabbed the younger man by the arm and pushed him over his lap. "Now, c'mon. I didn't even think you could possibly go over eight, but _no._ You've gotten _eleven._ "

"Ryan, please," Brendon pleaded. "Please don't spank me. I'll behave, I promise!"

"We both know that isn't true, Bren," Ryan said, before pulling down his sweatpants and boxers and smacking down.

They continued raining down, and soon Brendon started to cry. "Ry- _an! St-stop!"_

That never worked, of course, and after a couple more minutes Ryan reached for the hairbrush in the drawer of his night desk. He smacked it down hard, and Brendon yowled, reaching his hand back (which Ryan stopped with a tap).

The swats continued coming, and soon the younger man was kicking his legs, begging him to stop. But Ryan continued — he wouldn't stop until he was absolutely sure that Brendon had learned his lesson.

Ten minutes later, and the brush still hadn't relented. Finally, five minutes after that, it did, and Ryan picked him up, cradling him in his arms.

"Shh, Bren," he murmured. "Shh. It's okay. Shh…"

"It hurts, Ryaaan," he whined.

"That's the point, Bren," Ryan said, rubbing circles onto his back. "Now c'mon, let's get you to bed."

He tucked him in, watching as the other man fidgeted before flipping over onto his stomach. He chuckled, rubbing circles onto his back before he was sure he'd fallen asleep.

"G'night, Bren," he whispered, shutting off the lights and leaving.

 _Yes, Brendon did get spanked over a pie. I couldn't think of anything else, alright?_


	11. Chapter 8

Brendon was over at Gerard's house, playing a video game. Gerard was upstairs and Mikey was in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. The youngest of them groaned — he'd been on this level for the past hour! He just wanted to—

 _Smash._

He blinked, looking down at his hand where the controller was supposed to be, but wasn't. Then he looked up at the television and saw it lodged in the glass.

"I am so dead," he muttered, watching as Mikey came in to see what had happened.

"Oh my god," he said, eyes wide. Gerard entered after that, his mouth dropping open.

"Which one of you did it?" he questioned, turning around, an angry expression on his face.

"I-It was Mikey!" Brendon exclaimed, pointing at the older man.

"Wha-!" Mikey looked at Brendon, betrayal in his eyes. His older brother turned angrily to him — he could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

" _Mikey Way,_ " he growled, grabbing him by the ear and dragging him upstairs. "You're _dead."_

Mikey whimpered as he was lugged up to his brother's room and thrown onto the couch. He heard a belt being unbuckled and began to beg. "P-Please, Gerard, i-it wasn't me!"

"Sure," his older brother said sarcastically, pulling his pants and boxers down with his free hand and bringing the belt down. "Don't lie, Mikey."

"B-But I'm not ly— _OW!"_

The belt continued coming down for the next ten minutes, and by the end Mikey was wailing, sobs racking his body. Gerard grabbed the hairbrush from his night desk and dragged his younger brother over his lap, smacking the hairbrush onto his bottom. Mikey yowled, reaching his hand back, but Gerard quickly removed it and continued spanking.

It continued for another ten minutes — Mikey was howling in pain once it had ended. Gerard set the brush down and spanked with his hand, cringing at the bawls that were coming out of his younger brother's mouth. He didn't relent, though, and the spanking went on for another five minutes. Mikey didn't even have anymore tears to shed after, and at the end he crawled off of Gerard's lap and went to the bed, hiding underneath the blankets and sobbing.

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows. Usually at the end of a spanking his younger brother was eager for comfort. Walking over to the bed, he sat down, rubbing Mikey's back, but he flinched away from his touch and buried himself further into the blankets. "Mikey?" he asked, moving closer to his brother. "What's wrong?"

"I-I—" He started to sob again.

"You deserved that, you know," Gerard said. "You do know that, right?"

"B-But I didn't deserve it!" he exclaimed, voice muffled by the pillow.

"Yes, yes you did," his older brother said, more firmly this time. "Now, I'm gonna go start dinner. Come down when you don't feel like lying, okay?"

"B-But…" Mikey started, but he was already gone. He sighed, saying, "I didn't do it…"

…

The next few days, Mikey was still acting off. Gerard was confused. Usually he'd be back to his normal self by this time. He decided to call Ryan, concerned about the way his little brother was acting.

" _Hello_?" Ryan asked, picking up a few moments after his phone had started to ring.

"Oh, hey, Ryan, it's Gerard."

" _Hey, Gerard! What's up?_ "

"Nothing really. I was just calling to ask if you knew anything about what happened a few days ago."

" _What thing that happened a few days ago?_ "

"When Mikey threw a controller at the TV."

" _Oh. I don't really know anything about it, but I can ask Brendon. Why_?"

"Mikey's been acting really… off since then. He's holed himself up into his room ever since and it's starting to worry me. He's never like this after a punishment… and he rejected comfort. I mean, Brendon never does that for you, does he?"

" _No, he's never done that. That does seem odd, though. I'll ask Brendon later today, okay? Talk later._ "

"Yeah, talk later," Gerard said, before hanging up and staring at his wall, lost in thought.

…

Brendon was practicing a part for a song on the piano, so lost in his music that he didn't realise Ryan had walked in until he heard a throat clear. He looked up, seeing his older bandmate standing near his bed, an eyebrow raised.

"Bren, do you know anything that might've driven Mikey to act weird lately? According to Gerard, he's been acting off since the day he threw the controller at the TV. We're not sure why."

"… Uh, no, I don't have any idea why…" he laughed nervously.

That made Ryan raise his other eyebrow. Brendon knew something that he wasn't telling. "Are you _sure,_ Bren?"

He scratched the back of his head — a habit of his when lying. "Y-Yeah, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm not sure you're telling the truth," Ryan said, taking a step forward. "You do know that you scratch the back of your head when you lie, right?"

"W-What? No…" he scratched the back of his head again.

The older man rolled his eyes. "You just did it again. C'mon, Bren. What do you know?"

Looking down, guilty, he sighed. "I-I… i-it…"

 _"Yes?"_ Ryan pushed.

"It wasn't Mikey that th-threw the controller…" Brendon said weakly. Ryan's mouth dropped open. That's not what he'd been expecting.

" _Excuse me?"_ he asked incredulously. "Did I just hear that right?"

"I threw the controller…"

"Brendon Urie!" Ryan exclaimed, grabbing him by the forearm. "Not only did you break the Ways' TV, but you also _lied_ about it? That is unacceptable!"

He was then dragged over Ryan's lap, which caused him to whine, "Ryan, _noo!"_

Pants and boxers at his ankles, Ryan smacked his hand down. Brendon yelped, the smacks continuing to rain down. More and more, they fell onto his defenceless bottom. After ten minutes of that, Ryan reached over to Brendon's night desk where he kept the paddle. He then swatted it down, causing the younger man to cry out.

" _I-I'm sorry, Ry!"_ he exclaimed.

"Sorry doesn't cut it," he growled, bringing down the paddle some more.

The spanking continued for another twenty minutes — the longest Brendon had ever been paddled. He was blubbering by the end, shouting apologies and kicking his legs.

"Hush," Ryan said at the end, pulling his pants and boxers up with a quick tug. "I'm going to call Gerard now and tell him what happened."

That made Brendon cry more. Gerard was going to _murder_ him. It was one thing that he had broken his TV, but he'd also lied about Mikey. And because Gerard was _really_ overprotective over his little brother, he definitely would be enraged at the fact that Brendon had gotten him purposely punished.

"Now, go to the corner," Ryan said, pushing his younger bandmate over. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Walking out of the room, Ryan pulled out his phone, calling Gerard.

" _Hey, Ryan. Did you figure out anything via Brendon?"_

"Yeah, I did… and you're not going to like it."

 _"It can't be that bad."_

"Um… it was actually Brendon who threw the controller at the TV."

 _"What?"_ Gerard shouted into his phone. " _Oh my god. That little…"_

"I know, I know. I just spanked him, but you can, too. I'll bring him over tomorrow, alright?"

" _Okay."_ The older man was fuming. " _Bye, Ryan… I'm going to kill Brendon."_

Ryan winced as he hung up, thinking about how much pain the younger man was going to be in the next day. _I'll put some lotion on his bottom when he gets home,_ he thought, going to his bedroom to tell Brendon the news.

…

The next day, Ryan dropped Brendon off in front of Gerard's enormous mansion. Sighing, the younger man cautiously walked up to the front door. He knocked, waiting for a few moments before the door swung open. Gerard was standing there, an unhappy look on his face.

"Oh," Brendon laughed nervously. "H-Hey Gera-"

He was cut off by his ear being grabbed, and he yelped loudly, scrambling to catch up to the older man as he was dragged into the living room and pushed into the corner. "Stay," Gerard commanded, leaving the room to get some spanking implements.

He came back fifteen minutes later with a fresh switch and a paddle. Grabbing Brendon's ear again, he pulled him over his lap, tugging down his pants and boxers before crashing the wooden paddle onto his bare bottom.

Brendon cried out, fresh tears springing into his eyes. More and more swats came down, and soon he was kicking his legs, begging Gerard to stop.

Ten minutes later, the paddle stopped coming down and Brendon sighed, relieved. Was it over?

Of course it wasn't, for then he was pushed over the couch, ass up and defenceless. Gerard unbuckled his belt, bringing it down _hard._ Brendon howled, kicking his legs up and down. The belt continued coming down for a straight fifteen minutes, which by the end Brendon was screaming and sobbing, disoriented.

"Gerard, sto- _op!"_

But this still wasn't over. Gerard grabbed the switch, tapping Brendon's bottom with it. Confused, he craned his neck around, looking to see what the older man had. His eyes widened in horror. He'd never gotten the switch before, but Mikey had once, and he'd told him that it hurt like a motherfucker. He had never wanted to test the truth of that statement, though, but now it seemed like he had to.

"Gerard, p-please!" he begged. " _Ple— OOOOOOOW!"_

Bringing the switch down, Gerard began to lecture, "Brendon, can you tell me what you did wrong?"

"I-I threw th-the controller at the TV!" he cried out as the switch whistled down again. "A-And I-I — _oowwww!_ — I lied about throwing it! I-I'm _sosososo_ sorry, Gerard! So sorry!"

The switch came down fifteen more times (the last caused Brendon to scream and break down). After, Gerard picked the younger man up, rubbing circles on his back. "Shh, shh," he murmured. "It's okay, Brendon. Shh."

Choking on his tears, he exclaimed, "I-I'm really sorry, Gerard!"

"I know," he said, "But it's not me you should be apologising to. It should be Mikey. Now c'mon, I'll call Ryan and he can drive you over to Frank's."

"O-Okay," he sniffled as Gerard pulled him up, tugging his pants and boxers back over his bottom, causing him to hiss in pain.

Ten minutes later, Gerard had called Ryan, who picked Brendon up a few minutes after that. He said goodbye to Gerard and drove the younger man to Frank's house, letting him go alone to the door. Brendon knocked after a few moments of standing around and soon Frank opened the door.

"Hello — Brendon?" he tilted his head to the left. "What are you doing here?"

"I- um… is Mikey here?" he asked, blushing.

Frank raised an eyebrow, calling for the younger man. He stumbled down the stairs a minute later, hair a mess, and looked surprisingly at Brendon, although the betrayal was still evident in his eyes. "Bren, what are you — what are you doing here?"

"Um…" Brendon shifted awkwardly. "I - I just came to say that I'm sorry… for… everything."

"Everything?" Frank asked, looking at the two of them. "Wait, what happened?"

"I - I'm sorry for saying that you threw the controller at the TV," Brendon said, flushing. "When it had actually been me…"

Frank raised an eyebrow. "You did _what?"_

"P-Please don't punish me!" he cried, looking at the older man with wide eyes. "I-I've already been sp-spanked…"

"Okay," Frank said, watching him suspiciously.

"It's fine, Brendon," Mikey said. "I forgive you."

Brendon sighed in relief, before smiling shyly at him. "Thanks."

Mikey grinned back as Brendon bid him farewell, jogging back to Ryan's car. The older man looked at him. "You apologised?"

Brendon nodded. "Yeah," he said, sighing. "Can we go out for dinner?"

Ryan chuckled. "Yeah, sure. Pizza?"

"Definitely pizza."

 _Holy shit, people actually read this? (I finally got some reviews. I'm so proud.)_

 _If people start leaving suggestions for chapters, though, then you have to realise that that chapter will come out after like a couple more months, because all the chapters that are being published now are from a long time ago (as I stated in a previous chapter). I mean, I still write chapters for this story, I just won't catch up to them for a long time. If you do leave a suggestion, though, then I will gladly write it._

 _Thanks for reading!_


	12. Chapter 9

It was Friday night and Brendon was standing in a store, studying some collectible Nirvana CDs that had just come in. There were only two left, and he was pretty sure that both would be gone by the next day, so he needed to get them _now._ Only problem is he'd forgotten his wallet at the apartment they were staying at, which was all the way across the city and there was no way he could make it there and back before the store closed.

Sighing, he eyed the CDs, before looking around. The coast was clear. Grabbing the two discs, he slipped them inconspicuously into his jacket, before going to look at some magazines. He examined them for a few minutes before casually walking out of the store, humming a song underneath his breath.

He was surprised when nothing happened.

Waiting a few more moments, he continued walking, all the way to his car. He got in, slowly pulling out, half-expecting an employee to start running at him, crazed and screaming about stolen property. But that didn't happen.

 _Wow,_ he thought, pulling out of the parking lot and beginning to drive. _Woow._

He felt kind of guilty when he arrived back at the apartment, but was happy that he'd gotten away with it. Whistling, he hung his jacket up, taking the two CDs out and putting them underneath his pillow before going to make some coffee.

"What are you so happy about?" Ryan asked, walking into the kitchen with raised eyebrows.

"Nothing," Brendon replied with a grin.

…

Around five hours later, when the band was just starting to settle down for sleep, there was a loud knock on the door. Spencer groaned, rising from his bed and slipping a shirt on before going to answer it.

"Hello?" He opened the door, peering outside, surprised to see five policemen standing there.

"Hello, sir, I'm afraid we have to investigate your apartment," one of the officers said.

"Um, can I ask why?" he questioned, opening the door to let them in, his eyebrows furrowed.

"There's been a theft at a store across the city," one said, looking in a cupboard. "Two CDs have been stolen — both costing one hundred and fifty dollars."

"Oh," Spencer said, still confused. "Why our apartment?"

"We managed to catch the license plate number on a security camera, but the owner is unclear," another one explained. "Someone was driving past this building, though, and saw the same car in the parking lot. We've been searching all the apartments since."

"Oh," he repeated, blinking. "Well, search away… I'm gonna go ask my bandmates if they know anything."

Walking to the bedroom he was sharing with Ryan, he poked his head in. "Ry? Um, the police are here, they're searching for two stolen CDs… you don't know anything, right?"

The older man got up, hair tousled and eyebrows furrowed. "No, I don't. Have you asked Jon and Brendon?"

Spencer shook his head. "Not yet. I'm just about to, though."

"I'll come with you," he offered, trotting after his younger bandmate.

They entered the other bedroom, and Spencer said, "Um, guys? Wake up."

"What is it?" Jon groaned from underneath a massive pile of blankets.

"The police are in our apartment," he replied, causing Brendon to jerk up like someone had just yanked his hair.

"What?" he asked, eyes wide.

"The police are here…" Spencer repeated. "They're looking for some stolen CDs. You guys don't know anything about that, do you?"

"Nope," Jon said, getting up and stretching.

Spencer and Ryan both turned to Brendon, who looked like a deer in the headlights. "Bren?" the younger one asked cautiously. "You don't know anything, right?"

" _Right?"_ Ryan pressed, eyebrows raised.

"Uh… no… definitely not…" Brendon said, laughing nervously.

Just then, two officers entered their room, beginning to search the various cupboards and beds. Brendon froze, looking at them, terrified.

Ryan grabbed him by the arm, dragging him out into the hallway before whispering, "You do know something about the CDs, _don't you?"_

"Uh… yeah, I, uh, guess I do," he said awkwardly, shuffling his feet. Ryan glared.

"You stole them, didn't you?" he demanded.

"I guess I did," the younger one laughed nervously.

"Oh my god, you _fucking idiot!"_ he hissed. "You're going to get arrested, you know?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah…"

Just then, one of the officers announced, "I found them!"

…

An hour later, Brendon was sitting in a cold jail cell in the next town over, clad in nothing but a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. He was freezing and was pretty sure he'd be left there until morning, but suddenly heard the bars screeching open. A police officer was standing there, looking like there'd be a lot he'd rather be doing than letting a seventeen year old out of jail at one in the morning.

"C'mon, kid," he grumbled. "Your parents are across the country so we couldn't get them, but thank your lucky stars there was another number for us to call."

 _Another number?_ Brendon wondered, eyebrows scrunched as he walked out of the cell, following the officer into the main room. _Who else would — oh._

Pete was standing there, an eyebrow raised and his foot tapping. "Hi, Brendon."

"Oh, hey, Pete," he said awkwardly.

The other man whirled around and began walking out, not saying anything more, and he trailed after him like a lost puppy. "We're going to my place," he growled as they got into the car. "Your ass is _dead,_ by the way."

Brendon whimpered, burrowing himself further into the seat. Pete pulled out of the parking lot, beginning the thirty-or-so minute drive back to his place.

…

When they arrived, the younger man was shoved into a corner, his nose touching the wall. "And stay there," Pete said gruffly, stalking out of the room to get what he needed.

Brendon shivered, whimpering a bit. Stealing CDs and getting arrested was no small crime — he'd be getting a damn hard spanking tonight.

A few minutes passed and Pete walked back in, placing the implements he'd taken from upstairs down onto the table. He sat down and waited for a bit, watching Brendon shift uncomfortably in the corner — he knew Pete was watching him, and it made him nervous. What if he accidentally slipped up?  
"Brendon," he said, voice loud and firm. "Come here."

The younger man turned around slowly, making his way over with wide eyes. Pete patted his lap. "C'mon."

Bending over slowly, Brendon shifted, his pants and underwear being pulled down. He allowed himself to relax a bit as his bottom was massaged.

"Trust me, this spanking's going to be lasting awhile," Pete said, "So get comfy, mmkay? I'm gonna start now."

And then he began to build up a steady rhythm with his hand, alternating cheeks every few seconds. Brendon remained stoic, determined to stay silent the whole spanking. He'd only been spanked once before, and he'd broken down eventually. He was seventeen years old, for crying out loud! He shouldn't be reduced to a sobbing little boy due to a measly —

" _Ow!"_ he yelped as an exceptionally hard swat landed on the under curve of his bottom.

"Getting sidetracked, are we?" Pete asked, continuing to spank the under curve. "Maybe _this_ will help!"

He landed twenty rapid-fire smacks, causing Brendon to cry out. "St-Stop!" he exclaimed. "Please!"

" _Stop?"_ the older man asked incredulously. "Bren, we aren't even a third way through this."

Brendon groaned, hiding his face in the cushion of the sofa. He was spanked for another three minutes with Pete's hand, before he felt something else on his bottom.

Craning his neck around, he saw the hole-covered paddle that Pete had used the last time on him. He remembered it quite clearly for one reason — it hurt like _hell._

"P-Pete!" he stuttered as it crashed down onto his defenceless bottom. " _Stooop!"_

"Do you know what you did wrong, Brendon?" the older man demanded.

"Um…" Brendon thought for a few moments, before exclaiming, "IstoleCDsandgotarrestedanddidn'ttellanyone!" after five particularly harsh swats.

"That's correct," Pete said approvingly, continuing to paddle him. "And why is that wrong?"

"…" Pete landed ten hard smacks.

" _Yes?"_

"Um, it's wrong b-because stealing is a c-crime!" he cried. "And that means it's illegal and I shouldn't do anything illegal because otherwise I'll go to jail a-and—!" He broke down sobbing, tears pouring down his face.

Pete set the paddle down, rubbing his back. "Shh, Bren, shh, it's okay," he murmured.

"I-Is it over?" he peeked out from behind his hand, looking at Pete, scared.

"I'm afraid not," Pete said sadly, patting his bottom. "Get up and go over the couch, Bren."

"W-What?" Brendon asked, terrified, pain in his eyes. "N-No, Pete! Please, no!"

"Up and over the couch, Bren," Pete repeated, more firmly this time.

He whimpered, before rising off the older man's lap and bending over the couch, ass up and vulnerable. He shivered, trying to see what Pete was doing.

What he saw made him start crying hot tears all over again — Pete had a thick cane in his hand.

" _Nononononononono!"_ he cried. "Please, Pete! _Please!"_

But Pete wasn't listening, instead he was cracking the cane down onto Brendon's poor bottom. He howled in pain, reaching his hand back, but the older man was having none of it. He grabbed Brendon's wrist and pinned it to his back, before saying, "Count for me, Brendon."

"O-One!" he yelped, right as another came down. "T-Two!"

Fifteen minutes later, he screamed, " _Forty-nine! Fifty!"_ Then he began wailing, tears streaming down his face and pouring onto the cushion below him.

Pete stopped then, throwing the cane down and wincing at the sobs that came out of the younger man's mouth. He gently picked him up, putting him in his lap and rubbing his back. "Brendon, it's over now," he whispered. "Shh, Bren. It's all over… I forgive you."

They stayed like that for another five minutes before Pete pulled the other man's pants and boxers up, causing him to hiss. Wiping his tears, he looked up at the older man, blushing, "I'm sorry, Pete."

He chuckled, patting his bottom affectionately. "It's fine, Bren. Now c'mon, I'll drive you back."

…

When Brendon entered the apartment, he was surprised to find the kitchen light still on. Cautiously entering, he saw Ryan sitting at the table, sipping a steaming mug of coffee and reading a magazine. He glanced up when he saw his younger bandmate and smiled slightly.

"Hey," he said, as Brendon walked over and hugged him, beginning to cry into his shoulder. "Hey, shh, shh, Brendon. it's okay, shh." He tilted his chin up, looking into his wide eyes. "Let's get you to bed, okay?

The younger man nodded, following his friend and bandmate back to the bedroom, allowing himself to be tucked in. "Goodnight, Brendon," the older man murmured.

"G'night, Ryan," Brendon said sleepily, turning over and falling asleep.

 _Aw, Brendon gets spanked by Pete - again. If you were looking for just Brendon getting spanked by Ryan, then I'm sorry, my friend, but you've come to the wrong place (honestly, though, there are absolutely no non-sexual Ryan and Brendon spanking fics - I've checked. Multiple times.). Bren will probably get spanked by Pete a lot in this, and also Ryan (obviously), and then Gerard and Frank and all the others. Good times, good times._

 _Tell me what you think? Or don't. I don't really care that much._


	13. Chapter 10

Ryan paced the dressing room, worried. It was around an hour until showtime and Brendon hadn't shown up yet. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, while Spencer patted his back. "Don't worry," he said, "He'll come eventually."

"I know, but what if he doesn't?" the older man groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We can't just go out there and be like, 'Oh, hey, sorry guys but Brendon is an idiot and hasn't shown up yet so we're cancelling!'"

Spencer sighed. "I know… have you tried calling anyone? Someone must've seen him."

"You're right," Ryan said, reaching for his phone and dialling the first number that came up.

" _Hello?"_

"Um, hey, Pete," the brunet said awkwardly. "Do you happen to know where Brendon is?"

" _No, I don't. Why?"_

"Well, we have a concert in an hour and he isn't back yet… I was wondering if you might know where he is."

 _"Well, I don't, but I'll call if I find anything out, okay?"_

"Okay — thanks, Pete."

"Welcome."

…

It was only around five minutes later when Pete got another call. "Hello?" he asked, picking up the phone.

" _Oh, hey, Pete,"_ a familiar voice said. " _It's William._ "

"Oh," he blinked. "Why are you calling?"

 _"Because Ryan is on the phone with someone else and you were the other person I thought of. I now realise that I could've tried Spencer or Jon. Eh, anyway — I have something that belongs to you. Well, not you specifically but—"_

"Get on with it, Bill," he laughed.

 _"Oh, right. I have Brendon."_

"That's great! Ryan just called me asking where he was. Tell him to go to the concert, it starts in like fifty minutes."

" _Um, Pete… that might be a problem."_

"Why?" He scrunched his eyebrows.

 _"Because Brendon is more or less completely wasted._ "

"What?" Pete spluttered. "He's _drunk?_ How?"

 _"Well, we were at a bar—"_

"Why'd you bring him to a bar? He's only seventeen!"

 _"He's seventeen? Oh my god I forgot what his age was so I asked him and he told me he was twenty-one."_

Pete dragged a hand over his face. "Jesus fucking Christ."

 _"I know, I'm sorry! Anyway, some girl came around, and he started flirting, and then they started drinking. A lot. And I told him to stop because he'd get sick but he didn't and he just kept drinking — he must've blown like two hundred bucks on drinks. Next thing I knew we were being kicked out of the bar because he was puking everywhere and… yeah."_

"Oh my god," Pete groaned. "Where are you guys? I'll come pick you up."

 _"We're near the Golden Bar. You know where that is?"_

"Yeah, yeah I do," he replied. "I'll be there in like ten minutes. Don't move."

…

Ten minutes later, he pulled up near the sidewalk, where the lanky William Beckett was standing awkwardly, a green Brendon Urie wobbling beside him. "Thanks for picking us up, Pete," William said, getting in the passenger seat after direction Brendon into the back one. "It means a lot."

"No problem," the black-haired man replied, pulling out and looking at Brendon in the rear-view mirror. "Bren, you do know you have a concert, right?"

"A whaaat?" he asked, giggling afterwards. "A contest? What contest, Pete? I don't have a contest… unless you mean a—" he hiccuped. "— a singing contest. Because I remember Delilah saying something about one…" He started looking around, crazed. "Where is Delilah?"

Pete turned to William. "Who the fuck is Delilah?"

The other man shrugged as Brendon began to sing in a cracking voice, "Ooooooh, Delilaaaaaaah! Where are youuuu, Delilaaah?"

The oldest man rolled his eyes, before pulling into the parking lot of William's hotel. "See you later, Bill," he said.

"Bye!" the other one called, shutting the door.

It was just Pete and Brendon then, and Brendon was still obnoxiously singing about 'Delilah'. He sighed, heading towards the hotel he and the rest of his band were staying at, a plan brewing in his head.

…

Patrick, Joe, and Andy had gone out for dinner, so the hotel room was empty. Pete dragged Brendon inside, putting him on the couch before going to get what he needed. When he came back, Brendon was fidgeting, looking at his hands before looking up at the ceiling before starting to tap his foot loudly. "Brendon," Pete said, voice loud and clear in the silent room. "Brendon, look at me."

He didn't. The older man rolled his eyes, setting down the things he'd gotten before going to get a glass of water. He splashed it in the brunet's face, watching as he snapped back to reality.

"What was that about?" he spluttered.

"I needed your attention," Pete said easily, before grabbing him by the shoulders and looking straight into his eyes. "Brendon, you are completely and utterly wasted, which I would be fine with, except for the fact that you have a _concert tonight_ and are only _seventeen!"_

The younger man was silent, opting for staring at his feet instead of speaking. Pete sighed. "Brendon, look at me."

His eyes snapped up this time, staring at Pete. "Bren, I'm gonna get you some food," he said slowly. "And then after you've eaten, you're going to call Ryan and you're going to tell him that you have to cancel the concert."

"B-But I can still—" He hiccupped. "Play!"

"I don't think you can, Bren," Pete said. "You're sobering up, I know, but you definitely couldn't go on stage for an hour. Now, go sit down, I'm gonna go get you some food. Chinese sound alright?"

He nodded, and Pete grabbed his jacket and keys, heading out. Brendon sat down at the table, his eyesight going a bit wobbly. He decided to get a glass of water and drank it quickly, immediately feeling a bit better.

Around ten minutes later, the older man came back, handing Brendon a takeout box filled with fried rice. "Eat," he told him, giving him a fork, too.

Brendon slowly began to, uncomfortable as Pete was watching him the whole time. Once he was done, he awkwardly got up and threw the box in the trash can, before looking at the black-haired man. "Um… what now?" he asked.

Pete reached for his phone, throwing it to the other man. "Call Ryan," he said. "Tell him you guys have to cancel."

He groaned, punching Ryan's number in. A few seconds later, he picked up, " _Hello?"_

"Um, hey, Ryan, it's Brendon…"

 _"Oh my god, Brendon! Where are you? The show starts in thirty minutes!"_

"Uh…" He looked up at Pete, who was staring at him with raised eyebrows. "Listen, Ryan, w-we have to cancel."

 _"Cancel?"_ Ryan asked incredulously. _"We're gonna lose a bunch of money, Bren! Plus, think of all those people! Why can't you come?"_

Pete groaned, grabbing the phone. "Ryan? Yeah, hey, Ryan. It's Pete. Listen, Brendon was completely wasted around half an hour ago. He's sobering up now, but he's still pretty drunk. I don't think he could even say the ABCs. So, yeah, you guys have to cancel, unless you want an illegally wasted lead singer."

Ryan sighed. " _Yeah, yeah, I get it… it's just… the fans are gonna be so disappointed. Do something about Brendon, though. I don't want him coming to another show wasted again…"_

"I have something in mind," Pete said, eyeing the younger boy. "Bye Ryan."

 _"Bye, Pete."_

He set down the phone, before looking at Brendon. He had a pretty good idea on what he was going to do, but it required Brendon's cooperation — well, it _could_ require his cooperation, but if worst came to worst it didn't have to.

"Um, can I head back, now, Pete?" the younger man asked, looking at him with wide eyes. He shook his head.

"No. Brendon, you've been bad," he said, sitting down. "And I'm not just going to let you off easy."

Brendon laughed slightly. "What're you gonna do, ground me? You're not my parents, Pete."

"No, I'm not, but as of right now I'm the closest you're going to get. So, come here."

"What're you going to do?" he asked, kind of scared.

Pete looked at him, completely serious. "I'm going to spank you."

Brendon blinked. "Sorry, _what?"_

"I'm going to spank you, Brendon."

"Um, Pete, this really isn't a time to be joking—"

"No, I'm serious, Bren. _I am going to spank you_."

"B-B-But—!" he exclaimed.

"Now, are you going to come here, or am I going to have to force you to?"

Brendon scuffed his foot on the ground, uncomfortable. Was he being serious?

Pete rolled his eyes, before grabbing him by the forearm and pushing him down over his lap. "W-Wait, P— _YOOOOWW!"_

The next thing he knew, his pants had been pulled down and there was something hard crashing down onto his bottom. He looked back, seeing a large, wooden hairbrush in Pete's hand. It smacked down again, and again, and soon he was crying out for him to stop.

But of course he didn't, and for the next five minutes all that could be heard in the room were Brendon's cries and the brush swatting down.

After another five minutes, Pete threw down the brush and picked up something else, slapping it down _hard._ Brendon howled loudly, throwing his hand back, but the older man quickly grabbed his wrist and pinned it to his back.

"Brendon," he began, bringing it down again. "Can you tell me what you did wrong?"

"I-I drank illegally!" he exclaimed. "And t-to make it worse, I had a concert t-tonight so I missed it! I'm sorry Pete!"

He continued bringing the paddle down for another ten minutes — at the end Brendon was screaming in pain, tears falling from his eyes as he kicked his legs. Finally, Pete stopped, putting the paddle down. He began to rub Brendon's bottom slowly, murmuring sweet nothings.

Around five minutes later, Brendon stopped crying and instead was just sniffling. Pete picked him up, pulling his pants gently. "Shh, Bren, shh."

"Can I stay here?" he asked, looking up at Pete with hopeful eyes. "I-I don't want to face my bandmates until tomorrow…"

He laughed slightly. "Sure, Bren. Although, Patrick, Pete, and Andy should be coming back soon. You sure you wanna talk to them?"

The younger man shrugged. "I don't really mind…"

"Okay, then," he said, picking Brendon up and bringing him to one of the beds in the other room attached to theirs. He tucked him in, watching as he turned over uncomfortably, moving onto his stomach. He chuckled, turning off the light and walking back to the other room. Sitting down on the couch, he turned on the TV, waiting for his bandmates to return.


	14. Chapter 11

Mikey and Brendon were playing football in the hallway and basically just fooling around. "Go along!" Brendon shouted from the other side of the hallway, watching as Mikey ran to the other end and throwing the ball.

However, Brendon's aim was a bit off and it went soaring over the older man's head instead. They both watched with wide eyes as it went crashing into the window, sending shards of glass to spray everywhere.

"Shit," they said in unison, stepping carefully over the glass to go see the damage.

Brendon turned to Mikey. "You think we can get away this?"

He shook his head. "Fuck no. I mean, Gee's gonna be here any second now. There's no way we can clean this up before he gets back."

Right on cue, they heard the front door opening. Both looked at the other with wide eyes. "What do we now?" Brendon whispered.

"Pray to God that he doesn't come up here for the next few days or something," Mikey replied, before heading downstairs to greet his brother.

The younger man sighed, following him. Gerard looked up from his place in the kitchen and smiled, "Oh, hey, guys. Could you help me with groceries?" He gestured to the many bags on the floor.

Mikey shot Brendon a look and whispered, "Don't say _anything."_

They went about helping put the groceries away, and watched as Gerard made his way upstairs. "W-Wait, Gee!" Mikey called to his older brother, who turned around with a raised eyebrow. "Um… I don't know where to put the…" He looked at what was in his hand. "Eggs?"

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Seriously? They go in the fridge, Mikey."

"Which fridge, we have like seven," he said, looking at the massive kitchen his brother somehow managed to keep track of.

He sighed, walking over and taking the eggs from his band before putting them in the fifth fridge. "There," he said, looking at his brother with raised eyebrows. "Now, can I go upstairs?"  
"A-Actually, why don't you go outside?" Brendon suggested. "Like, who needs the indoors anyway…"

"Yeah!" Mikey agreed. "You're looking so pale, I bet you could use some sunshine…"

Gerard looked between his younger brother and his friend. "Somehow I feel as though you guys are hiding something from me."

"W-What?" Brendon asked. "Pfft, no, of course not…"

"Then you won't mind if I go upstairs, will you?" he asked, making his way to the stairs once more.

All the two younger men could do was watch helplessly as Gerard jogged up the stairs. They heard a, " _Holy shit",_ before he was back downstairs, looking at both of them with angry eyes.

"Who was it?" he asked, staring at them pointedly.

Mikey pointed at Brendon hastily, while Brendon pointed at Mikey. Gerard rolled his eyes. "So, both of you, then?"

"Technically Brendon threw the ball!" Mikey exclaimed.

"But Mikey didn't catch it!" Brendon protested.

"But both of you were playing football indoors, weren't you?"

Mikey looked at his feet, scuffing one into the carpet. "Um, yeah…"

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Brendon, I'm gonna call Ryan. Mikey, get yourself bared and in the corner of my room."

The two younger ones shared a look. Gerard sent a pointed look toward his younger brother, who quickly muttered, 'Bye' to his friend before scurrying upstairs. The oldest man pulled out his phone and dialled Ryan's number — he answered on the second ring.

" _Hello?"_

"Hey, Ryan," Gerard said conversationally, sending Brendon a look. "How are you?"

" _Oh, I'm pretty good, you_?"

"I'm fine. You doing anything now?"

 _"Nah. I'm just at home, making dinner. Is there a reason you called? Or do you just wanna talk?"_

"There is a reason I called, yeah. Not sure if you're going to like it."

Ryan groaned. _"What did Brendon do now?"_

"He threw a football into my window," Gerard said. "And he was playing it indoors."

 _"Jesus, when will he learn?"_ he sighed. " _Can you bring him over? I'm kinda busy."_

"Yeah, sure," he said, looking at Brendon with raised eyebrows. "I'll be there in like ten minutes."

" _See you then_." The line went dead.

Gerard told Brendon to go get in the car, and he did, hastily moving to put on his jacket and shoes before bolting out the door. The older man chuckled, heading upstairs to check on his younger brother.

He was in the corner, like asked, with his back straight and pants and underwear pulled to his ankles. Gerard smiled slightly at the familiar sight. "I'm taking Brendon home," he said. "If you aren't in the corner when I get back, there will be consequences." He was halfway out the door before pausing and turning around, digging into his wallet to find a coin. "Actually," he began, striding over to his brother and balancing a quarter carefully onto his nose. "Keep that there. If it falls, I'll know."

He then went downstairs, climbing into the car next to a trembling Brendon. "Brendon, stop," he said without looking at him. "I know you're scared, and that's fine, but it's not like you're being condemned to death."

"But I am!" he whined. "I mean, not literally, but my ass is gonna die because of Ryan!"

The older man rolled his eyes, turning the car's ignition and pulling out of his driveway. Around ten minutes later, they were sitting in Ryan's driveway. Brendon was frozen, his body not moving at all.

"Brendon," Gerard said, annoyed. "Are you going to get out?"

It was silent for awhile before Brendon shook his head. Gerard rolled his eyes, climbing out of the car by himself and going up to the front door. The younger man was still completely frozen, seeming to not realise what was going on outside the car.

To Gerard's surprise, the door was opened by Spencer. "Gerard? What are you doing here?" he asked, confused.

Gerard almost felt bad for Brendon because of his misfortune. He knew Spencer didn't know about the punishments that he received, and Ryan wasn't the type of person to hide it from anyone. "Um, can you get Ryan for me, please?"

"Sure," Spencer said, calling for the other man, who appeared a few seconds later.

"Brendon won't get out of the car," Gerard told him.

He glared, storming towards the car and opening the door with a bang. Brendon jumped, just now realising what was happening. "U-Uh, Ryan, hey—"

"Brendon Urie," he growled, grabbing him by the ear and pulling him up, smacking his bottom with his hand. "Get yourself bared and in the living room corner, _now."_

Gerard watched as Spencer's eyes widened slightly and Brendon scurried inside, looking at Spencer, shocked for a split second before darting inside. Ryan followed, an angry look on his face, and simply told Spencer, "I'll explain later," before thanking Gerard and going back inside.

Spencer stood still for a few more seconds, before turning around and following him inside. Gerard took that as his cue to leave and got into his car to go back home, where his little brother was waiting.

…

When he got back home, Mikey was sitting on the bed, cross-legged and listening to music. Gerard raised an eyebrow as he didn't even notice him, focused completely on his phone.

 _He did not think this through at all,_ he thought, almost laughing out loud before clearing his throat loudly. Mikey's eyes shot up, slipping his headphones off and opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

"Um, Mikey," he said, "I don't think that's the corner."

"I-I can explain?" he said weakly.

"There's nothing to explain," he said, moving towards him. "You obviously disobeyed me completely. I mean, you could've thought this out a bit more, Mikey. Headphones, really?"

He flushed as his older brother moved closer to him and pulled him up by the ear back to the corner, taking his phone and headphones and tossing them aside. "Stay," he commanded, leaving the room to get his necessary things.

When he came back, he set the things on the bed before sitting down to watch his brother awkwardly shuffling. "Stay still," he said, voice loud and clear in the quiet room.

That immediately stopped him, and the next few minutes were absolutely silent. Gerard wasn't even sure if Mikey was breathing. After a couple more minutes, he called him out of the corner, and watched as he turned around slowly as if sentenced to death.

"Michael, come here," he said, gesturing to the space in front of him. Mikey dragged his feet as he walked over, standing in front of his brother with a slight glare in his eyes. "Do you know what you did wrong, Michael?"

"…"

" _Michael._ "

"…"

 _"_ Michael James Way!"

"… not fair," he mumbled finally.

"I'm sorry?" Gerard asked.

"It's not fair," he repeated, louder this time.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't wanna get spanked," his voice was closer to a whine this time.

"Maybe you don't want it, but you deserve it."

"But I'm _twenty!"_ he exclaimed. "Twenty's too old to still get spanked like a fucking little kid!"

"Watch your mouth," Gerard snapped, standing up and smacking his bottom twice.

"I'll fucking swear if I want to!" he retorted. "I'm a fucking adult and I can do whatever the fuck I want to do, okay? I'm not going to get spanked like some shit-eating little kid, Gerard! You're such an _asshole_ oh my—"

He was cut off by his ear being pinched harshly and being dragged to the bathroom. Immediately, his tone turned scared, "G-Gee, what are you—?"

He was bent over the counter, twenty hard smacks landing onto his bottom before being pulled back up. "You will _not_ swear at me like that again," Gerard growled, grabbing a bar of soap and lathering it up.

Mikey was going to protest, but the soap was stuffed into his mouth before he could. "Keep it there or there will be consequences," he said, voice low and angry, dragging him back to the bed and pulling him over his lap.

"Mmf!" Mikey tried to speak, but couldn't. "Geeeeeeeeee-!"

Smacks began to rain down onto his unprotected bottom, and soon it was reddening. Gerard paused for a moment, grabbing a paddle from behind him and slamming it down, causing Mikey to squeal, almost spitting the soap out.

This continued for another ten minutes, and after awhile the younger man was crying hot tears. The soap in his mouth was starting to taste awful and he really wanted to take it out, but of course he couldn't do that. Well, he could, but it would result in a harsher spanking and he didn't think he could handle that.

"Michael James Way," Gerard finally started. "You are a _naughty_ boy! And yes, I said _boy!_ Because anybody who throws tantrums like that is most definitely _not_ a man! No, you are acting like a _toddler!_ And toddlers get _spankings!"_

Each word was punctuated by a hard swat, and Mikey was soon wailing, trying desperately not to spew the soap out onto the floor beneath him. Gross sobs escaped from the back of his throat, and he had to clench his teeth together as to not let the soap drop.

After ten more agonising minutes, Mikey's bottom was a deep crimson, and the tears were spilling out of his eyes like no tomorrow. Finally, the paddle was thrown down and he was pulled by the forearm back to the bathroom.

"Spit," his older brother said, pointing at the sink. He did so, gratefully, grabbing a cup to get some water but was stopped. "No, you don't get to rinse. Now c'mon, back to the bed."

Mikey whined loudly as he was dragged back to the bed, bent over it. "Gee, please!" he cried out, mouth sour from the soap. "Pleeaaase! I've learned my lesson, I'm sorry!"

But Gerard didn't listen, and instead grabbed his last implement. Mikey turned around, seeing a mysterious object in his older brother's hand. "Gee, what… what is that?"

"This is a switch," he replied. "And although it's gonna hurt like hell, I still want you to count."

A low whine came from the back of his throat and he stamped his foot on the ground, but nodded. Gerard brought it down hard, on his thighs, and Mikey screeched loudly, screaming, " _ONE!"_

Another came, and another, and another, and they just kept coming " _TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEEEEEEEEEEEEN!"_

Gerard didn't relent, and soon went to his already dark red bottom, causing him to start crying all over again, screaming for him to stop. But of course he didn't, and soon Mikey was sobbing so loudly that he couldn't even say the numbers.

His older brother didn't push, though. He knew Mikey couldn't even count if he wanted to, so he just continued slamming the switch down. He went all the way up to his limit, right before Mikey would break, and then suddenly stopped, practically throwing the switch down onto the floor.

Mikey was wailing. He couldn't even tell that the switching had stopped until he realised that he was being cradled and murmured sweet nothings to.

"Shh," Gerard said quietly. "Shh, Mikey. It's okay, I've got you. Shh… you're forgiven. Shh."

The soothing continued for another ten minutes, until finally Mikey's sobs had turned to soft cries and his soft cries had turned to sniffles. "Mikey, I know it's only six or something, but I think you should go to sleep," Gerard said softly.

Mikey nodded, hiccupping. "Okay."

Gerard gently picked him up, taking him to his own room and tucking him in, only bothering to pull his boxers up, which caused him to cry out loudly. He hummed a song underneath his breath until Mikey had fallen asleep, and kissed his forehead quickly before leaving, going to make himself some dinner.

Brendon darted to the living room, flushed. He went to the corner that was least visible from the living room entrance and awkwardly tugged down his pants and underwear, standing as still as possible.

In the kitchen, Ryan was taking his apron off and Spencer was staring at him with a questioning look, eyebrows raised. "Um, what was that?" he asked, confused.

"Well, basically, I spank Brendon," Ryan said, heading towards his own room to get some implements.

" _What?"_ Spencer followed him, mouth falling open.

"I drag him over my lap and spank his ass until he's crying," the older man said, raising an eyebrow. "And no, it's not sexual. It's just because Brendon is an idiot and a bit too immature for his own good and that's the only way to make him behave."

Spencer blinked, taking it in. "So… you're going to go… _spank_ Brendon right now?"

Ryan nodded. "Mmhmm," he said, opening his closet and searching for one of the long, wooden rulers he'd bought along time ago, but never used on Brendon. He carefully went into Brendon's room, grabbing his hairbrush that was used more times for spanking than actually hair-brushing, and then headed to the living room.

Spencer watched cautiously, eyes widening slightly at the sight of Brendon bared in the corner. Ryan raised his eyebrows, "You staying or not?"

Awkwardly taking a seat, he watched as Ryan called the younger man over. He blushed when he saw Spencer there, and said in a small voice, "I… Is he going to watch?"

"Yes," the older man replied simply, before patting his lap. "Now come here, Brendon."

He shuffled over, sparing a glance at Spencer once more, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He braced himself mentally, before bending over Ryan's lap, ass up and vulnerable — the standard position.

"Bren," he said gently, rubbing the hairbrush on his bottom gently. "Tell Spencer what you did wrong."

Brendon stayed still for a few moments, before shyly looking up, and even though he was draped over Ryan's long legs with his bottom bared he looked adorable. "U-Um," he began, as Ryan petted his hair softly. "I-I… I was playing football indoors, which by itself I shouldn't do… and I threw the football at the window, and it broke, and… yeah."

"Good boy," Ryan murmured. "I'm gonna start now, okay, Bren?"

He nodded slightly and the next thing he knew the brush was coming down _hard._ He tensed, but remained silent. Breaking down in front of Spencer of all people was not on his to-do list.

It kept coming down, creating a steady pattern, echoing throughout the otherwise silent room. Brendon shifted slightly, putting his head down and letting his fringe cover his face. He really didn't want Spencer to see him like this. It was one thing that Ryan did, but if Spencer did, too? Jon would surely be next, and he didn't want his whole band looking at him and thinking of a little boy who couldn't control his own tears.

A particularly harsh swat brought him out of his thoughts and he couldn't help but yelp. The same-strength smacks continued to come down, and he was almost positive that Ryan was doing this on purpose to make him start crying, because soon tears were prickling at his eyes and leaking down his face.

Another five minutes passed, and he was letting out noises of distress. Ryan set down the brush after three more minutes and said softly to Brendon, "Bren, I need you to get up and over the couch. I wanna try something new today."

Brendon shyly lifted himself from his place on the older man's lap, looking at Spencer for a split second before leaning forward. His dark red bottom poked up into the air, hot to touch. Spencer flinched slightly at what he thought it must feel like.

Picking up the long ruler, Ryan looked it over. There was a metal piece in the very tip that would most likely leave quite a sting, so he decided to use that side. "Brendon," he said, voice calm and firm. "I'm going to be using a ruler now."

"A ru— _OW!"_ Brendon yelped loudly as it came down. It felt like a weird mix between a cane and a paddle. He didn't like it _at all._

Ryan brought it down again, before saying, "Count for me, Brendon."

"O-One!" he cried. "T-Two!"

And on and on, until they had reached one hundred. Brendon's bottom was turning a purplish colour, and said man himself was sobbing. After a few more minutes of being spanked, he collapsed, arms that had once been holding him up falling. He just laid there, taking it in, sobbing into the couch cushion and hoping for it to be over.

"Shh, Bren," Ryan soothed, setting down the ruler and instead picking him up. "It's okay, Brendon. Shh."

Spencer watched as the man he had never seen cry before (and he had been on tour with him multiple times) bawled into Ryan's shoulder. Ryan hugged him one last time, patting his bottom before tugging his pants and boxers back up.

"I'll go finish dinner," he said, leaving the other man there on the sofa, covered in tears. Spencer followed, a bit too shocked to do anything else.

Once they were in the kitchen, and Ryan was stirring the spaghetti, Spencer said, "So… spanking?"

Ryan laughed, turning to his bandmate and friend. "Yeah, spanking."

"It does make him act better."

The older man raised an eyebrow. "Exactly."

/

 _My Chemical Romance's probably gonna appear a lot in this story. Whoops._

 _How have you guys been? I'm going back to school in just a couple weeks, which is... exciting. Not really. Fuck school._

 _Anyway, leave a review if you want to._


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